IT WAS a tale of passion that we read
Of two who loved, not happily, but well!
And evermore her gentle breast did swell
Like a twin-billow,for her feelings fed
Upon its rhythmic griefand brimming shed
Such dews of pity as can only fall
From natures full of sweetness, when the pall
Of tragedy oershadows them with dread.
Then, as I looked, in her raised eye there stood
A gem more excellent that ever shined
Within my spirits transcendental sphere,
And so embalmed its love with an immortal tear.
The Tear
written byCharles Harpur
© Charles Harpur