Half senseless in her cold despair, her young cheek blanched like death!
But an hour since, so joyous, fond, without a grief or care,
Now struck with wo unspeakable,—how dread a change was there!
“It shall be done!” was that the voice that rang so gaily sweet,
When, innocent and blest she came, but now, with flying feet?
“It shall be done!” she turns to go, but, ere she gains the door,
One look of wordless, deep reproach she backward casts,—no more!
But late she sprang the threshold o’er, a light and blooming child,
Now, reckless, in her grief she goes a woman stern and wild.