(For Aline)

Now by what whim of wanton chance
 Do radiant eyes know sombre days?
And feet that shod in light should dance
 Walk weary and laborious ways?

But rays from Heaven, white and whole,
 May penetrate the gloom of earth;
And tears but nourish, in your soul,
 The glory of celestial mirth.

The darts of toil and sorrow, sent
 Against your peaceful beauty, are
As foolish and as impotent
 As winds that blow against a star.