Yet not even the deep river of tears rolls from the heart the stone;

No, naught save the white-robed Angel of Hope born of the soul alone.

O dove! mourning alone, croon to the moon over the one you love;

O soul! Hope is thine own, throned in the white dome of thy home above!

ECHO SONG.

Echo, be not heartless, I implore you,

Listen to my woe;

And I’ll evermore, as now, adore you

(Tho’ that augurs that I sometimes bore you)