Poem by Louisa Stuart Costello

Song (Thy form was fair, thine eye was bright)

Thy form was fair, thine eye was bright,
    Thy voice was melody;
Around thee beam'd the purest light
    Of love's own sky.

Each word that trembled on thy tongue
    Was sweet, was dear to me;
A spell in those soft numbers hung
    That drew my soul to thee.

Thy form, thy voice, thine eyes are now
    As beauteous and as fair;
But though still blooming is thy brow,
   Love is not there.

And though as sweet thy voice be yet,
   I treasure not the tone;
It cannot bid my heart forget—
   Its tenderness is gone! 

1. Song (I will not ask one glance from thee)
2. The Return to Paraclete
3. Spanish Song
4. Song (When others saw thee gay and vain)
5. Lines (I cannot sleep—my nights glide on)

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