I Can See Her Still

Was it a dream?
Or just a time,
Lost in thought?
I can not say.
Yet I saw her then;
I can see her still,
In her gown
Of tattered white.
Stricken, and bowed,
So marred by pain,
and by tears;
That men shrank
From her, as one
Smitten of God.
Wrestling with the
Burden of her anguish;
She kneels in the dust:
Her head downcast,
As if hope had fainted;
Her beloved lyre,
Broken in her hand.
Resting upon a rock;
She presses to her ear
The one unbroken string,
As though catching
At the sweet music,
Of another place.
Softly, she smiles,
And pulls her hair
Away from her eyes,
As she rises slowly,
And makes her way,
Alone, down the path.