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 Then fly, O coward soul, Delay no more: What words can speak the joy For thee in store? What smiles of earth can tell Of peace like thine? Silence and tears are best For things divine.

THE ANNUNCIATION

How pure, and frail, and white, The snowdrops shine! Gather a garland bright For Mary's shrine.

For, born of winter snows, These fragile flowers Are gifts to our fair Queen From Spring's first hours.

For on this blessèd day She knelt at prayer; When, lo! before her shone An Angel fair.

"Hail, Mary!" thus he cried, With reverent fear: She, with sweet wondering eyes, Marvelled to hear.