Ah! what is summer's gaudy year
Or beamy morn to captive ree
Or music to the prisoned ear
Save that wild cadenee - Liberty
The orient sun with golden light
May stud the palace of the free
But noon-day gleams are dead as night
To her who weeps for - Liberty.
Young spring has not a flower to charm
Nor tint of grace, nor breath of glee.
Nor smile to cheer, nor ray to warm
The heart bereft - of Liberty.
Her freedom is the sun - the dew -
Spring's lives and summer's radiant morn
We riot in its valiant mead
And when its glory sets - we die -
October 20, 1822
Helen, here, is a month from her 20th birthday.
She doesn't marry until she's 51.