And the flowers faded in their fairy grace
And the fount stopped its glorious play, and mute
The birds their light wings shut in that sweet place,
While the deep night that veiled the woman’s soul
O’er shrine and idol cold and starless stole.
And in her desolate agony she cast
Her form beside Love’s shivered treasure there,
And cried, “Oh, God! my life of life is past!
And I am left alone with my despair.”
Hark! from the lute one low, melodious sigh