As he had known before; and wish'd again
To join the very mirth he hated then!

He durst not break the vow--he durst not be
The one he would--and his heart's harmony
Became a tide of sorrow. Even so,
He felt hope die,--in madness and in woe!
But there came one--and a most lovely one
As ever to the warm light of the sun
Threw back her tresses,--a fair sister girl,
With a brow changing between snow and pearl,
And the blue eyes of sadness, fill'd with dew
Of tears,--like Heaven's own melancholy blue,--
So beautiful, so tender; and her form
Was graceful as a rainbow in a storm,
Scattering gladness on the face of sorrow--
Oh! I had fancied of the hues that borrow
Their brightness from the sun; but she was bright
In her own self,--a mystery of light!
With feelings tender as a star's own hue,
Pure as the morning star! as true, as true;
For it will glitter in each early sky,
And her first love be love that lasteth aye!

And this was Agathè, young Agathè,
A motherless, fair girl: and many a day
She wept for her lost parent. It was sad
To see her infant sorrow; how she bade
The flow of her wild spirits fall away
To grief, like bright clouds in a summer day