Oh, sad one, who wails for thy love that is slighted
Left lone and forsaken, all joy fled away;
Thy day-dream of beauty o'ershadowed and blighted,
Thy sky once so rosy now clouded and gray.
Thine idol was earthly, and earth-like must perish;
The casket was doubtlessly faultless and fair;
But 'tis only the soul-gem the poet can cherish,
And blend with, his dreamings in gladness or care.

The glory that shone like the East in the morning
On the radiant ideal was sweet to behold;
But, alas! 'twas thy fancy had wrought its adorning,
And without it the real is worthless and cold.
And the poet's high soul ever craves for that beauty
That must be arrayed in the white robe of Truth;
The Love, Heaven-born, that walks hand-clasped with Duty,
That thro' life's changing years keeps the heart in its
youth.

Then shall Truth at the shrine of the False linger pining
No! Nature rebels, and Hope whispers, Arise!
There are regions unknown in the glad sunlight shining—
In the paths of thy calling where happiness lies!
Oh, linger not weeping, in gloom and in sadness,
The days that are coming thy healing shall bring;
And a love, brighter far, horn of Truth and of Gladness,
Shall Phoenix-like up from the dead ashes spring!