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He sets the jewel-print of your feet

In violets blue as your eyes,

To the woody hollows in which we meet

And the valleys of Paradise.


The slender acacia would not shake

One long milk-bloom on the tree;
The white lake-blossom fell into the lake,

As the pimpernel dozed on the lea;
But the rose was awake all night for your sake,

Knowing your promise to me; The lilies and roses were all awake,

They sigh'd for the dawn and thee.


Queen rose of the rosebud garden of girls,

Come hither, the dances are done,

In gloss of satin and glimmer of pearls,

Queen lily and rose in one ; Shine out, little head, sunning over with curls,

To the flowers, and be their sun.


There has fallen a splendid tear

From the passion-flower at the gate. She is coming, my dove, my dear;

She is coming, my life, my fate; The red rose cries, 'She is near, she is near;'

And the white rose weeps, 'She is late;' The larkspur listens, 'I hear, I hear;'

And the lily whispers, 'I wait.'


She is coming, my own, my sweet;

Were it ever so airy a tread,

My heart would hear her and beat,

Were it earth in an earthy bed; My dust would hear her and beat,

Had I lain for a century dead ;

Would start and tremble under her feet,

And blossom in purple and red.



The fault was mine, the fault was mine'

Why am I sitting here so stunn’d and still, Plucking the harmless wild-flower on the hill ?

It is this guilty hand !-
And there rises ever a passionate cry
From underneath in the darkening land-

What is it, that has been done ?

O dawn of Eden bright over earth and sky,

The fires of Hell brake out of thy rising sun,

The fires of Hell and of Hate;

For she, sweet soul, had hardly spoken a word, When her brother ran in his rage to the gate,

He came with the babe-faced lord ;
Heap'd on her terms of disgrace,
And while she wept, and I strove to be cool,
He fiercely gave me the lie,
Till I with as fierce an anger spoke,
And he struck me, madman, over the face,

Struck me before the languid fool,

Who was gaping and grinning by:
Struck for himself an evil stroke;

Wrought for his house an irredeemable woe;
For front to front in an hour we stood,

And a million horrible bellowing echoes broke
From the red-ribb’d hollow behind the wood,
And thunder'd up into Heaven the Christless code,

That must have life for a blow.

Ever and ever afresh they seem’d to grow.
Was it he lay there with a fading eye ?
• The fault was mine,' he whisper'd, 'fly!'
Then glided out of the joyous wood
The ghastly Wraith of one that I know;

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