Down to the bottom of his heart,
As deep the searching sunbeams dart
Through spring-depths, clear and silver-blue.
Why fleest thou then? What craved the test
Of oaths? Was it to crush this breast?
What—but in space my protest dies,—
A widow faint with bitter sighs,
A dove which roams with weary cry
Through earth and heaven without reply.
Yes, forests sigh and torrents fall