Watching the shadows, the fire-light shadows,
Merrily dancing about,
Wondering if heart-shadows vanish like shadows,
When life's fitful flame has gone out;
Wondering if shadows are deep, darker shadows,
Aeons of ages of blight;
Wondering, wondering,
Watching the shadows to-night.




I GIVE THEE BACK MY HEART.

I give thee back thy fickle heart,
Thy faithless vows I've spurned,
I bury deep the blighted hopes
That in my bosom burned.

Yet who had thought a brow so fair,
From guile so seeming free,
A voice so sweet, so winning rare,
So treacherous could be?

Who would have dreamed a form that seemed
Proud Honor's templed shrine,
Could hold within an urn of sin
A soul so false as thine?

Nor strange 'twould be, if ne'er again,