FORGET-ME-NOT. 49 
I lean upon thy warm shoulder in the evening sunset, 
listening to those silver accents, which to me were 
sweeter music than that which floated through the en¬ 
vied heaven I have lost. Never more will those milk- 
white arms embrace me, nor shall I again taste the 
bubbling honey which steeped the rounded roses of thy 
matchless lips, far sweeter than the dews which swell 
the pouting blossoms that blow in the immortal gardens 
above : those golden ringlets, which hung upon the 
downy whiteness of my wings, like the last deep rays 
of sunset shed over a bed of lilies, have now blended 
their golden clusters with the clod of the valley : those 
eyes, which but to look on made the stars, that pave 
the azure floor of that heaven which I shall never again 
tread, look dull, and dead, and rayless : and that heart, 
which was a fitting sanctuary for the Holy One him¬ 
self to dwell in, is now cold, and hushed, and motion¬ 
less, and dark as the chaos I flew over at His bidding, 
long before the first morning broke upon the void. 
With one hand shadowing his face, he arose from 
the earth, mute and sorrowful; and tears, the first that 
had ever yet dimmed immortal eyes, oozed out from 
between the unstained whiteness of his fingers, and 
fell like a shower upon the ground. He looked upon 
