To Helene, On A Gift-ring Carelessly Lost

I SENT a ring--a little band
   Of emerald and ruby stone,
And bade it, sparkling on thy hand,
   Tell thee sweet tales of one
   Whose constant memory
   Was full of loveliness, and thee.

A shell was graven on its gold,--
   'Twas Cupid fix'd without his wings--
To Helene once it would have told
   More than was ever told by rings:
   But now all 's past and gone,
   Her love is buried with that stone.

Thou shalt not see the tears that start
   From eyes by thoughts like these beguiled;
Thou shalt not know the beating heart,
   Ever a victim and a child:
   Yet Helene, love, believe
   The heart that never could deceive.

I'll hear thy voice of melody
   In the sweet whispers of the air;
I'll see the brightness of thine eye
   In the blue evening's dewy star;
   In crystal streams thy purity;
   And look on Heaven to look on thee.