No light is in her eye,
How cold and pale she seems!
The dull, gray ashes on her lips
Choke back the rippling thrills of glee
That yesterday, a joyous river flowed.
Why does she weep incessantly--
With now and then a momentary lull
Succeeded by an outburst
I wonder if her heart like mine,
Pent and restrained,
Is sometimes full beyond control!
Then comes the torrent, merciful,
Relieving, cleansing, purging,
And washing free of care and dross,
The Soul left clean and purified.