He sped ’mid the length’ning shadows
Till he came to a lonely dell.
The flowers, with teardrops laden,
Bent their heads as he flew along,
To sigh o’er the grave of a maiden—
His sigh was a poet’s song.
“Then sighed that Love was dead.”
T h e C a v e r n s o f t h e S o u l
by Charles Louis Sicard.