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For a minute, but for a minute,
RIVULET crossing my ground,
COME into the garden, Maud,
For the black bat, night, has flown, Come into the garden, Naud,
I am here at the gate alone; And the woodbine spices are wafted abroad,
And the musk of the roses blown.
For a breeze of morning moves,
And the planet of Love is on high, Beginning to faint in the light that she loves
On a bed of daffodil sky,
To faint in his light, and to die.
All night have the roses heard
The flute, violin, bassoon ;
To the dancers dancing in tune:
And a hush with the setting moon.
I said to the lily, “ There is but one
With whom she has heart to be gay.
She is weary of dance and play.”
And half to the rising day ;
In babble and revel and wine.
For one that will never be thine ?
6 For ever and ever, mine."
And the soul of the rose went into my blood,
As the music clash'd in the hall; And long by the garden lake I stood,
For I heard your rivulet fall
From the meadow your walks have left so sweet
That whenever a March-wind sighs
In violets blue as your eyes,
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,
Queen lily and rose in one;
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;
Had I lain for a century dead ;
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 landWhat 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?
Is it gone ? my pulses beat-
The feeble vassals of wine and anger and lust, The little hearts that know not how to forgive : Arise, my God, and strike, for we hold Thee just, Strike dead the whole weak race of venomous
worms, That sting each other here in the dust; We are not worthy to live.
SEE what a lovely shell,