TO ADHEMAR.

———

BY E. ANNA LEWIS.

———

’Tis just one year ago, beloved, to-day,

Since, my pale hand between thy hands compressed,

I laid my burning brow upon thy breast,

And bade the flood-gate of my heart give way—

Then shut it down upon its streams for aye.

We sought to speak, yet neither said farewell;

Fate rung her larum through my spirit’s cell

Until the chill of death upon me lay.

I never could relive that hour again:

Through every artery shot an icy pang,

As if an adder pierced me with its fang,

And dashed the roseate fount of life with bane.

My eyes were open, yet I could not see—

I breathed, yet I was dead. All things were dead to me.