THE summer leaves were sighing Around the Zegri maid, To her low, sad song replying As it filled the olive shade. "Alas! for her that loveth Her land's, her kindred's foe! Where a Christian Spaniard roveth, Should a Zegri's spirit go? "From thy glance, my gentle mother! I sink, with shame oppressed, And the dark eye of my brother Is an arrow to my breast." -- Where summer leaves were sighing Thus sang the Zegri maid, While the crimson day was dying In the whispery olive shade. "And for all this heart's wealth wasted, This woe in secret borne, This flower of young life blasted, Should I win back aught but scorn? By aught but daily dying Would my lone truth be repaid?" -- Where the olive leaves were sighing, Thus sang the Zegri maid. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE WINE OF NIGHT by LOUIS UNTERMEYER THE TENTH MUSE: THE VANITY OF ALL WORLDLY THINGS by ANNE BRADSTREET THE SIFTING OF PETER by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW FLOWERS WITHOUT FRUIT by JOHN HENRY NEWMAN PAN IN WALL STREET by EDMUND CLARENCE STEDMAN WHERE GO THE BOATS? by ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON AT THE FIRESIDE by JOHANNA AMBROSIUS |