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O little hearts ! that throb and beat
With such impatient, feverish heat, O LITTLE feet ! that such long years Such limitless and strong desires ; Must wander on through hopes and fears, Mine that so long has glowed an Must ache and bleed beneath your burned, load;
With passions into ashes turned I, nearer to the wayside inn
Now covers and conceals its fires. Where toil shall cease and rest begin, Ain weary, thinking of your road !
O little souls ! as pure and white O little hands ! that, weak or strong, And crystalline as rays of light Have still to serve or rule so long,
Direct from heaven, their source di Have still so long to give or ask ; I, who so much with book and pen Refracted through the mist of years, Have toiled among my fellow-men, How red my setting sun appears,
Am weary, thinking of your task. How lurid looks this soul of mine !
FLIGHT THE THIRD.
On the floor are mysterious footsteps,
There are whispers along the walls !
And mine at times is haunted
By phantoms of the Past,
By the silent moonlight cast.
A form sits by the window,
That is not seen by day,
It vanishes away.
O SWEET illusions of Song,
That tempt me everywhere,
Of the crowded thoroughfare !
I grasp you, and ye are gone ; But ever by night and by day,
The melody soundeth on.
In desert or prairie vast,
That a pleasant shadow cast ;
And shining roofs of gold, That vanish as he draws nigh,
Like mists together rolled, So I wander and wander along,
And forever before me gleams The shining city of song,
In the beautiful land of dreams.
Of that golden atmosphere,
For the vision to reappear.
It sits there in the moonlight,
Itself as pale and still,
Across the window-sill.
Withont, before the window,
There stands a gloomy pine,
And underneath its branches
Is the grave of a little child,
And never wept nor smiled.
THE HAUNTED CHAMBER. Each heart has its haunted chamber,
Where the silent moonlight falls !
What are ye, O pallid phantoms !
That haunt my troubled brain ?
And at night return again?