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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;
As the pimpernel dozed on the lea;
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 !-
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 ;
Struck me before the languid fool,
Who was gaping and grinning by:
Wrought for his house an irredeemable woe;
And a million horrible bellowing echoes broke
That must have life for a blow.
Ever and ever afresh they seem’d to grow.