In wondering worship to that godlike brow,
How the rare beauty of thy spirit burned
In the rapt gaze and in the glowing vow,
How didst thou waste on one thy soul should scorn
The glory of a blush that mocked the Morn!
She turned from all—from friendship and the world—
Only Love knew the way to that dim glade,
And calm her sweet, yet queenly lip had curled
Had the world’s whisper reached her in that shade,
But she was deaf and dumb and blind to all,