(For Aline)
Now by what whim of wanton chance Do radiant eyes know sombre days?
And feet that shod in light should dance Walk weary and laborious ways?
But rays from Heaven, white and whole, May penetrate the gloom of earth;
And tears but nourish, in your soul, The glory of celestial mirth.
The darts of toil and sorrow, sent Against your peaceful beauty, are As foolish and as impotent As winds that blow against a star.
