Page:Carroll - Three Sunsets.djvu/26

 THE PATH OF ROSES.

the dark silence of an ancient room, Whose one tall window fronted to the West, Where, through laced tendrils of a hanging vine, The sunset-glow was fading into night, Sat a pale Lady, resting weary hands Upon a great clasped volume, and her face Within her hands. Not as in rest she bowed, But large hot tears were coursing down her cheek, And her low-panted sobs broke awefully Upon the sleeping echoes of the night.
 * Soon she unclasp'd the volume once again,

And read the words in tone of agony, As in self-torture, weeping as she read:—

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