AMABEL
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MARKED her ruined hues,Her custom-straitened views,And asked, “Can there indwellMy Amabel?” I looked upon her gown,Once rose, now earthen brown;The change was like the knellOf Amabel. Her step’s mechanic waysHad lost the life of May’s;Her laugh, once sweet in swell,Spoilt Amabel. I mused: “Who sings the strainI sang ere warmth did wane?Who thinks its numbers spellHis Amabel?”— Knowing that, though Love cease,Love’s race shows undecrease;All find in dorp or dellAn Amabel. —I felt that I could creepTo some housetop, and weep,That Time the tyrant fellRuled Amabel! I said (the while I sighedThat love like ours had died),“Fond things I’ll no more tellTo Amabel, “But leave her to her fate,And fling across the gate,‘Till the Last Trump, farewell,O Amabel!’” 1865. [Picture: Sketch of hour-glass]
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