James Mew, Once a Week (1863)
“ She sang, Cassandra-like, with dim faint eyes, Whose lids dropped gathered nectar, while the leaves Of amaranth were waving on her brow, How the great golden age had passed away, And how the harmonious chords of peace and love Should be unstrung, and sound again no more. So Numa, by the music of her voice, In such sweet sorrow was imparadised, That life was like a dream; till in his soul Those sacred germs of nobler birth than dust Grew strong beneath her smiling influence, And left fair deeds of fame to future time. ”
