Amid this garden's blooming spring;
Thou art the loveliest; and thy voice
Most meet to bid my soul rejoice."
Iola spoke not in reply;
But gazed on him with vacant eye:
Still was she silent as the grave,
O'er those we love but could not save;
And she seemed calm as tropic sea,
When its hushed waves from winds are free.
Gonzalo wondered; why no word,