| Andrew Macphail, comp. The Book of Sorrow. 1916. | | | XXVIII. Loneliness
‘I found her not’ | | By Thomas Moore (1779–1852) |
| | | I FOUND her not—the chamber seem’d | |
| Like some divinely haunted place, | |
| Where fairy forms had lately beam’d, | |
| And left behind their odorous trace! | |
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| It felt, as if her lips had shed | 5 |
| A sigh around her, ere she fled, | |
| Which hung, as on a melting lute, | |
| When all the silver chords are mute, | |
| There lingers still a trembling breath | |
| After the note’s luxurious death, | 10 |
| A shade of song, a spirit air | |
| Of melodies which had been there…. | | | | |
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