Page:Collected poems vol 1 de la mare.djvu/223

 OSES are sweet to smell and see,
 * And lilies on the stem;

But rarer, stranger buds there be,
 * And she was like to them.

The little moon that April brings,
 * More lovely shade than light,

That, setting, silvers lonely hills
 * Upon the rerge of night —

Close to the world of my poor heart
 * So stole she, still and clear;

Now that she's gone, O dark, and dark,
 * The solitude, the fear.