Page:A Sheaf Gleaned in French Fields.djvu/83

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this high terrace where the roses
 * Mount up as if to tempt the hand,

Three things the horizon-bound discloses—
 * The road, the town, the sea-line grand.

The sea says:—Fear me, when wrath urges,
 * Yawns terrible for all my deep,

And those who brave my foam-fringed surges
 * Down, down amidst my sea-weeds sleep.

The town says:—Wouldst thou comfort borrow
 * From me so full of noise and care?

My days are given to toil and sorrow,
 * And all my nights want fresher air.

The road says:—Lo, my winding traces
 * Lead to the climates of the snow,

Inhabited by divers races,—
 * But Death is in the winds that blow.

Now, life is here, in this sweet shadow;
 * What balm sheds Zephyr as he flies!

And oh! what flowers on hill and meadow
 * As thick as stars in summer skies!