Felicia Hemans

“ The sleep of storms is dark upon the skies;
The weight of omens heavy in the cloud:—
Bid the lorn huntress of the desert rise,
And gird the form whose beauty grief hath bowed,
And leave the tomb, as tombs are left—alone,
To the stars' vigil and the wind's wild moan.
Tell her of revelries in bower and hall,
Where gems are glittering, and bright wine is pour'd—
Where to glad measures chiming footsteps fall,
And soul seems gushing from the harp's full chord ”

“ A chain to be clasped in another sphere,
Therefore a current of sadness deep
Through the stream of thy triumphs is heard to sweep,
Like a moan of the breeze through a summer sky—
Like a name of the dead when the wine foams high! ”

“ We take each other by the hand, and we exchange a few words and looks of kindness, and we rejoice together for a few short moments;—and then days, months, years intervene—and we see and know nothing of each other.—Washington Irving. ”