ALEXANDER SMITH

Gleam'd a face of airy beauty with its heavenly eyes on

mine Gleam'd and vanished in a moment O that face was surely

thine

Out of heaven, Barbara !

O pallid, pallid face!

earnest eyes of grace !

When last I saw thee, dearest, it was in another place. You came running forth to meet me with my love-gift on

your wrist :

The flutter of a long white dress, then all was lost in mist A purple stain of agony was on the mouth I kiss'd, That wild morning, Barbara.

1 searched, in my despair, Sunny noon and midnight air;

I could not drive away the thought that you were lingering there.

many and many a winter night I sat when you were gone, My worn face buried in my hands, beside the fire alone Within the dripping churchyard, the rain plashing on your

stone,

You were sleeping, Barbara.

'Mong angels, do you think Of the precious golden link

1 clasp'd around your happy arm while sitting by yon brink ? Or when that night of gliding dance, of laughter and guitars, Was emptied of its music, and we watch'd, through lattice- bars,

The silent midnight heaven creeping o'er us with its stars, Till the day broke, Barbara ?

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