FOKGET-ME-NOT. 
19 
heaven I have lost. Never more will those milk- 
white arms embrace me, nor shall I again taste the 
kisses which steeped the rounded roses of thy 
matchless lips, far sweeter than the dews which 
swell the pouting blossoms that blow in the im¬ 
mortal 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 bright 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, will never again uplift 
their fringed curtains, and show the deep blue orbs, 
which swam in a sea of silver — they, alas! have 
closed their soft and melting brightness for ever. 
That heart, which was a fitting sanctuary for the 
Holy One Himself to dwell in, is now cold, and 
hushed, and motionless, 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 rose 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 the earth, and stood ankle-deep in the blue 
flowers of the Forget-me-not—they had sprung from 
