Page:Poems Allen.djvu/59

But when the morning fell across the ship,
    And storm and cloud were fled,
The golden beak no longer sought my lip,—
    The wearied bird was dead.

The bitter cold, the driving wind and rain,
    Were borne too many hours;
My pity came too late: and all in vain
    Sunshine on frozen flowers.

Thus many a heart which dwells in grief and tears,
    Braving and suffering much,
Bears patiently the wrong and pain of years,
    But breaks at Love's first touch!