Discontent

"A MAIDEN dwelt in fabled Thrace

So light of form, so fair of face,

So like the spirit of the dew,

The sunbeams would not let her pass,

Nor yield her shadow to the grass:

They kissed her, clasped her, shone her through:

And all wild things for her were tame;

The eagle to her beck'ning came,

The stag forgot that he was fleet,

The cruel little pebbles rolled

Their flinty edges in the mould,

And turned their smoothness to her feet.

Whene'er she slept, the birds were hushed;

And When she woke, the lilies blushed;

The roses paled, for very joy.

'Twas whispered that a star each night

Forsook its heaven, and took delight

To be her jewel or her toy.

Whene'er she wept -- Oh! could she weep?

Could any shade of sorrow creep

O'er one so born to pleasure's throne?

Ah! me, she drowned the brook with tears,

Her sighs come floating down the years,

She taught the wind its minor tone.

Away from marvels, worship, state,

Her yearning gaze burned, desolate,

To where, beyond a chasm's breach,

Upon a pathless crag, there waved

A far-off blossom that she craved, --

The one sole flower - quite out of reach.

Since just that prize she could not gain,

Here whole bright world was bright in vain,

And might in vain her love beseech.

With royal bloom on every side,

She broke her heart, and pined and died; ---

For oh! that one flower out of reach.

F.F. Clark