All melted away in the twilight’s gloom.
But that orphan form, with its willowy grace,
And the speaking prayer in that pale, calm face,
Still, still o’er my thoughts in the night-hour glide—
—Oh! Love is lovelier than all beside!
THE BROKEN LUTE.
“When the lamp is shatter’d,
The light in the dust lies dead;
When the cloud is scatter’d,
The rainbow’s glory is shed.