Page:Poems Allen.djvu/65

  And the heart that was breaking for me,—
    Poor heart!
  Silently breaking for me!

My days were a dream of summer-time,
  My life was a victory;
Fame wove bright garlands to crown my prime,
And I half forgot, in that radiant clime,
  The heart that was breaking for me,—
    Poor heart!
  Patiently breaking for me!

But my whole life seemed, as the swift years rolled,
  More hollow and vain to be:
Fame's bosom, at best, is hard and cold—
Oh, I would have given all praise and gold
  For the heart that was broken for me,—
    Poor heart!
  Thanklessly broken for me!

Sick with longing, and hope, and dread,
  I hurried across the sea;
She had wasted as though with grief, they said,—
Poor child, poor child!—and was long since dead;—