FROM ALFRED DE MUSSET.
" ELLE ETAIT BELLE SI LA NUIT."
FAIR was she, if the Night that sleeps
Within the chapel bare, Where Angelo has made her couch, All-motionless, is fair.
Good was she, if it be enough, To pass and ope the palms, Without a word or look of love ; If gold alone is alms.
Think could she, if the idle tone Her soft, calm accents caught, Like murmurs of a trickling brook, Was evidence of thought.
She prayed, if now with two bright eyes, Upon the ground to stare, And now to raise them to the skies,— I! such an act is prayer.
She might have smiled, if but the flower Whose bloom is hidden yet, Can open to the cooling gales That pass it and forget.
She might have wept, if but her hand, Placed coldly on her breast, Had ever in its human clay The dews of heaven confessed.
She might have loved, if like the torch That waves above a bier Its useless light, pride o'er her heart Had kept no guard severe.
Yes, she who only seemed to be, But never was, is dead, — The book is fallen from the kneo In which she never read. W. E. H. F.
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