This is her shadow, nothing more; The eyes that wear no smile for mine, The silent lips that laughed before, The hair, without its wave and shine, This mask that shows no mark divine. How calm, and cold it looks at me; Her eyes were full of shade and sun, A look that rippled like the sea, A cross whose breast the light waves run; A gleam, a cloud, a tale begun. This is the veil her soul put on To run the weary ways of earth; And when her fleeting race was won, She laid it down beside the hearth.
(Typographical errors above are due to OCR software and don't occur in the book.)
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