Page:Carroll - Three Sunsets.djvu/85

 A SONG OF LOVE.

, what is the spell, when her fledgelings are cheeping,
 * That lures the bird home to her nest?

Or wakes the tired mother, whose infant is weeping,
 * To cuddle and croon it to rest?

What the magic that charms the glad babe in her arms,
 * Till it cooes with the voice of the dove?

'Tis a secret, and so let us whisper it low—
 * And the name of the secret is Love!
 * For I think it is Love,
 * For I feel it is Love,
 * For I'm sure it is nothing but Love!

Say, whence is the voice that, when anger is burning,
 * Bids the whirl of the tempest to cease?

That stirs the vexed soul with an aching—a yearning
 * For the brotherly hand-grip of peace?

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