WOMAN.
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Gone from her cheek is the summer bloom,
And her lip has lost all its faint perfume:
And the gloss has dropp'd from her golden hair,
And her cheek is pale, but no longer fair.
And the spirit that satc on her soft blue eye,
Is struck with cold mortality;


And the smile that play round her lip has fed
And every charm has now left the dead.
Like slaves they obey d her in height of power,
But left her all in her wintry hour
And the crowd that swore for her love to die,
Shrunk from the tone of her last faint sigh
And this is man fidelity


'Tis Woman alone, with purer heart,
Can see all these idols of life depart,
And love the more, and smile and bless
Man in his uttermost wretchedness