Page:Flora (Heinemann 1919).djvu/17



MISERICORDIA.

Misericordia!

Weep with me.

Waneth the dusk light;

Strange the tree;

In regions barbarous

Lost are we.

I, Glycera,

And Silas here,

Who hath hid in sleep

His eyes from fear;

Wan-wide are mine

With a tear.

Misericordia!

Was I born

Only to pluck

Disaster's thorn?

Only to stray

Forlorn?

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