Page:Forget Me Not 1839.pdf/4

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Time was, coming forth together, She and Spring might seem Like the beautiful creations Of a morning dream; Each went through the quiet greenwood Wandering alone, With the green leaves and wild flowers O'er their pathway strown.

Round her head the locks are golden, So the sun in June Pours his glory o'er the summer At his crystal noon; From that shining hair, when parted, Came the pure high brow, With the carving of a statue, With the mountain's snow.

But it was the inward beauty Breathing from her face, That gave every look and motion Its diviner grace;