Light, and still lighter seemed that step to fall;
I scarce could tell you when it ceased, or how;
A breathing spirit walked the earth—’tis all—
That does not walk it now.
I think sometimes upon the sunny floor
I see the shadow of her golden hair;
And turn half-dreaming to the open door,
To look if she is there.
And then I mind. Life’s rough and thorny round
Would long ere this have torn the folded wing