Page:A Sheaf Gleaned in French Fields.djvu/334

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lover said to Love, about to fly,
 * 'Go not, dear Love, away;

O my sole wealth, mine idol, refuge high,
 * Thy gold wings furl, and stay.

'Within my heart is not thy place, the best?
 * Reposest thou not there

As the wild wood-bird in its mossy nest?
 * Why wilt thou go, and where?

'Rest! In the house that peace and silence crown,
 * Beside the waters still,

Were we not happy when the night came down
 * On hamlet and on hill?

'Hast thou forgotten all the eves we past,
 * In summer side by side?

See, in mine eyes the tears that gather fast!
 * Oh, rest, whate'er betide.

'Thou dost not hear me, and thy bright wing throbs,
 * Thou burnest to depart;

Little import to thee my tears and sobs,
 * The torture in my heart.'