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The wind was whispering on the lea
But the white rose felt it pass,
And the fragile stalks of grass

Shook with fear to see
All her trembling petals shed,
As it fled,
So gently by,—the wind upon the lea.

Blow, thou wind, upon the sea
Fierce and free,
And a gentler message send,
Where frail flowers and grasses bend,

On the sunny lea;
For thy bidding still is one,
Be it done
In tenderness or wrath, on land or sea!



HE King's three daughters stood on the
The hanging terrace, so broad and green,
Which keeps the sea from the marble Palace,
There was Princess May, and Princess Alice,
And the youngest Princess, Gwendoline.

Sighed Princess May, "Will it last much longer,
Time throbs so slow and my Heart so quick;
And oh, how long is the day in dying;
Weary am I of waiting and sighing,
For Hope deferred makes the spirit sick."

But Princess Gwendoline smiled and kissed her:—"Am I not sadder than you, my Sister?Expecting joy is a happy pain. The Future's fathomless mine of treasures, All countless hordes of possible pleasures, Might bring their store to my feet in vain."

Sighed Princess Alice as night grew nearer:—
"So soon, so soon, is the daylight fled!
And oh, how fast comes the dark to-morrow,
Who hides, perhaps in her veil of sorrow,
The terrible hour I wait and dread!"

But Princess Gwendoline kissed her, sighing,—

"It is only Life that can fear dying;

Possible loss means possible gain.

Those who still dread, are not quite forsaken;

But not to fear, because all is taken,

Is the loneliest depth of human pain."



HILE the grey mists of early dawn Were lingering round the hill, And the dew was still upon the flowers, And the earth lay calm and still, A winged Spirit came to me, Noble, and radiant, and free.

Folding his blue and shining wings,

He laid his hand on mine.
I know not if I felt, or heard

The mystic word divine,
Which woke the trembling air to sighs,
And shone from out his starry eyes.

The word he spoke, within my heart

Stirred life unknown before, And cast a spell upon my soul

To chain it evermore;

Making the cold dull earth look bright,
And skies flame out in sapphire light.

When noon ruled from the heavens, and man

Through busy day toiled on,
My Spirit drooped his shining wings;

His radiant smile was gone;
His voice had ceased, his grace had flown,
His hand grew cold within my own.

Bitter, oh bitter tears, I wept,

Yet still I held his hand,
Hoping with vague unreasoning hope:

I would not understand
That this pale Spirit never more
Could be what he had been before.

Could it be so? My heart stood still.

Yet he was by my side.
I strove; but my despair was vain;

Vain, too, was love and pride.
Could he have changed to me so soon?
My day was only at its noon.

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