Classic Poem

I saw her cheek grow pale with grief —
Her thoughtful eye grow dim,
And melting sorrow drop relief
From off its fringed brim.
I saw her snowy bosom beat
With fond sensation high,
And heard its its struggling pulse repeat
Her grief in each reply.

Yet, she was silent in her love,
And strived to hide the flame;
Though oft she cast her eyes above,
As if she breathed his name.
And then she gazed in deepest thought,
As one who views despair, —
For anguish in her bosom wrought
Its wildest workings there.

No smile lit her transparent face —
No Hope sate on her brow;
The only feeling left to trace,
Bespoke a broken vow.
Yet in her dim forsaken eye,
A beacon's lingering ray,
Showed a fond soul of purity,
Possessed that frame of clay.

The vital flash was flying,
With each sigh the bosom gave;
And its light was swiftly dying,
As the foam upon the wave.
And her end came as the balmy sleep
Of one who sips repose;
When slumbers throw a silence deep,
O'er his oblivious woes.