As a strange language to them: Marble sealed
Their lips were, to the founts that ’neath them gleamed,
And their cold, icy eyes have half congealed
The glowing tide that, in my heart, I felt
Still struggling forth to bid those ice bonds melt.
“Yet know I that man’s soul, born of the light
Of heavenly mansions, still must be divine;
Perhaps I have not learned its language right,
Or found the key that opes its holiest shrine,
And they may deem my soul hath lost the gem