For the loveless soul grows sick, the heart that the grey days harden;
I know too well that ye love! I would ye should hold your peace.
I too have seen Love rise, like a star; I have marked his setting;
I dreamed in my folly and pride that Life without Love were peace.
But if Love should await me yet, in the land of sleep and forgetting—
Ah, bird, could you sing me this, I would not your song should cease!
ANNA BUNSTON (Mrs de BARY)
A MORTGAGED INHERITANCE