Page:Poems Allen.djvu/133

MY PEACE.

ERE in this haunted corner, where
 First falls the light of each new morrow,
A sculptured face, of beauty rare,
Immutable, and still, and fair,
Pillowed amid its billowy hair,
 Still keeps its sorrow.

I go and come; I wake and sleep;
 I weep and laugh, exult and languish,
But still the lashes downward sweep,
And though the closed eyes do not weep,
The lips, with painful pressure, keep
 Their silent anguish.

And as in evening solitude
 I smile or sigh, as musing moves me,
This type of constant womanhood,
This eloquent, pale similitude
Of suffering, shames my changing mood,—
 Its truth reproves me.