The yellow sunlight mocks her tumbled hair,
Threading with callous light those tender curls,
And with irreverent finger strokes her cheek.
Flowers in the garden that were once most fair
Now for a soul-less mass of gaudy whirls,
Of sinister cold beauty they all speak.
But yesterday soft spring was in the air;
Dewdrops were jewels; tears now for pearls,
And heartache clothes the world in mantle bleak.
For she who to the sunbeam’s glow can spare
A warmer gleam, and can to flowers impart
Enchantment that comes not with pretty hue,
To-day is being taken from our view;
And with her going joy drains from the heart.