Page:Cheskian Anthology.pdf/111



footsteps have trod o'er

The path of the mountain,

The messengers rode o'er;

Rapidly, rapidly on:

They brought from my maiden

A message of sweetness:

They brought it in fleetness,

From her I won.

morning's first waking,

To slumbers of even,

Till frown'd the arch'd heaven,

Mantled in cloudiest gloom;