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the wrecked life.
Or wherefore was she sad? Vain fool! dost know
The dark archangel, whose vast wings do sweep
Between the sea and sky, unseen by man,
Yet leaves his mighty shadow on the wave,
Which, like a great soul conscious of a fate,
And darkened by an omen, all ignore,
Accepts, but shudders at the prophecy?
None knew her, but all felt who saw her once
That this was Beauty—that their lives henceforth,
Their daily lives, were richer by this boon.
The eye which dwelt upon her gracious shape,—
The ear which listened to her rich, sweet voice,—
The senses, ravished by the soft perfume
Which hung around her,—did accept the gift,
As wondering beggars do receive rich alms,
With benedictions merged in ecstasy.
Some lives are like rare missals, golden-clasped,
And ruby-bound;—but open them, and read.
Within are pictured bleeding agonies
And expiations, struggles, martyrdoms,
All blazoned on the dainty vellum page.
And some, all luminous unto the eye,
Are in themselves lone, cold, and dark;—without
Glorious as that Archangel who does stand
The dark archangel, whose vast wings do sweep
Between the sea and sky, unseen by man,
Yet leaves his mighty shadow on the wave,
Which, like a great soul conscious of a fate,
And darkened by an omen, all ignore,
Accepts, but shudders at the prophecy?
None knew her, but all felt who saw her once
That this was Beauty—that their lives henceforth,
Their daily lives, were richer by this boon.
The eye which dwelt upon her gracious shape,—
The ear which listened to her rich, sweet voice,—
The senses, ravished by the soft perfume
Which hung around her,—did accept the gift,
As wondering beggars do receive rich alms,
With benedictions merged in ecstasy.
Some lives are like rare missals, golden-clasped,
And ruby-bound;—but open them, and read.
Within are pictured bleeding agonies
And expiations, struggles, martyrdoms,
All blazoned on the dainty vellum page.
And some, all luminous unto the eye,
Are in themselves lone, cold, and dark;—without
Glorious as that Archangel who does stand
