At least not then:—she rose at last;
One piercing look around she cast,
And shrieked!—her memory, ah! too soon
Had lighted up those scenes of old,
When I, beneath far different moon
Than that which brightly rose aboon,
My love so passionately told.
She spake not still; but day by day
I saw her calmly sink away
Like some sweet flower or rainbow-form