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28o THE GOLDEN TREASURY OF |
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THE SPELL-STRUCK
S
HE walks as she were moving Some mystic dance to tread, So fall her gliding footsteps, So leans her glistening head.
For once to fairy harping She danced upon the hill,
And through her brain and bosom The music pulses still.
Her eyes are bright and tearless,.
But wide with yearning pain ; She longs for nothing earthly.
But O ! To hear again
The sound that held her listening
Upon her moonlit path ! The rippling fairy music
That filled the lonely rath.
Her lips, that once have tasted The fairy banquet's bliss,
Shall glad no mortal lover With maiden smile or kiss.
She's death to all things living, Since the November eve;
And when she dies in autumn No living thing shall grieve. |
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