THE LAMENT OF THE LOOKING-GLASS

Words from the mirror softly pass

To the curtains with a sigh:

“Why should I trouble again to glass

These smileless things hard by,

Since she I pleasured once, alas,

Is now no longer nigh!”

“I've imaged shadows of coursing cloud,

And of the plying limb

On the pensive pine when the air is loud

With its aerial hymn;

But never do they make me proud

To catch them within my rim!

“I flash back phantoms of the night

That sometimes flit by me,

I echo roses red and white -

The loveliest blooms that be -

But now I never hold to sight

So sweet a flower as she.”