Page:Collected poems vol 1 de la mare.djvu/31



HE had amid her ringlets bound Green leaves to rival their dark hue; How could such locks with beauty bound Dry up their dew, Wither them through and through?

She had within her dark eyes lit Sweet fires to burn all doubt away; Yet did those fires, in darkness lit, Burn but a day, Not even till twilight stay.

She had within a dusk of words A vow in simple splendour set; How, in the memory of such words, Could she forget That vow — the soul of it?