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54 People a world of their own fashioning, Forms for the heart to love and cherish ever, The visiting angels of our twilight dreams. Her foot was loveliest of remembered things, Small as a fairy’s on a moonlit leaf Listening the wind-harp’s song, and watching by The wild-thyme pillow of her sleeping queen, When proud Titania shuns her Oberon. But ’twas that foot which broke the spell—alas! Its stocking had a deep, deep tinge of blue— I turned away in sadness, and passed on.