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the night-frost hoarWhich pale on grass and granite lay.
Not long she stayed where misty moon And shimmering stars could on
her lookBut through the garden archway soon Her strange and gloomy
path she took.
Some firscoeval with the towerTheir straight black boughs stretched
o'er her head; Unseenbeneath this sable bowerRustled her dress and
rapid tread. There was an alcove in that shadeScreening a rustic seat and
stand; Weary she sat her downand laid Her hot brow on her burning
POEMS
14
hand.
To solitude and to the nightSome words she nowin murmurssaid;
And trickling through her fingers whiteSome tears of misery she shed.
God help me in my grievous needGod help me in my inward pain;
Which cannot ask for pity's meedWhich has no licence to complain
Which must be borne; yet who can bearHours longdays longa
constant weight-- The yoke of absolute despairA suffering wholly
desolate?
Who can for ever crush the heartRestrain its throbbingcurb its life?
Dissemble truth with ceaseless artWith outward calm mask inward
strife?
She waited--as for some reply; The still and cloudy night gave none;
Ere longwith deep-drawntrembling sighHer heavy plaint again begun.
Unloved--I lo shoe ladies clearanceyilai：nike heels for women