And holy hopes looked from the golden shades
That lay upon her soul, as angels bend
O’er the bright foldings of the summer clouds,
To woo us to the sky, from whence they come.
Her eye grew dreamy, and her bosom heaved,
As though within its cell some pleasant thought
Were singing, and it rose and fell upon
The waves of that delicious melody.
Her loosened hair swept o’er the sacred page,
And, as her soul went forth in whispers low,