Within my heart there stands a vacant throne;
I set a King there not so long ago,
The shadow of a man who did not know
He was beloved — I sought it there alone,
This silent image that was all my own ...
But one day someone whispered to me low
" Behold! dear, he is dead whom you loved so "
And now the speechless shadow too has flown:

Within my heart there stands an Angel — dumb,
With large eyes full of tears, that never close
By day nor night, and " Memory " is her name.
She dreams of other days that may not come
Again on earth ... her face is a white rose —
They droop, shut close, the wings on which she came.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .