But she has kept that faithless pledge
To this, her winter hour,
And keeps it still, herself alone,
And wasted like the flower."

Her pale lip quivered, and the light
Gleamed in her moistening eyes;--
I asked her how she liked the tints
In those Castilian skies?
"She thought them misty,--'t was perhaps
Because she stood too near;"
She turned away, and as she turned
I saw her wipe a tear.




A ROMAN AQUEDUCT

THE sun-browned girl, whose limbs recline
When noon her languid hand has laid
Hot on the green flakes of the pine,
Beneath its narrow disk of shade;

As, through the flickering noontide glare,
She gazes on the rainbow chain
Of arches, lifting once in air
The rivers of the Roman's plain;--

Say, does her wandering eye recall