Dear daughter of the Sun, the peerless virgin world,
Long cloistered in his bosom’s brightest rays.
* * * * * * *
No answer but a deeper shadow cast,—
And lo! the splendid mystery is passed.
SELF-SENTENCED.
Though born a man, he lives a mole;
In vain for him the seasons roll;
Poor earth-worm; in a world of light,
Still deeper digging into night.