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Glaring like red insanity. She saw Her lover, shrieked, and strove to fly— But fell:—her naked feet were gashed with wounds. "And have I met thee but to see thee die?" cried as he laid the pale face Upon his breast, and sobbed like a young child. In vain he dashed the cold stream on her face,— Still she lay like a corpse within his arms. At length he thought him of a giant tree, Whose hollow trunk, when children, they had oft Called home in playfulness. He bore her there; And of fresh flowers and the dry leaves he made A bed for his pale love. She waked at last, But not to consciousness: her wandering eyes Fixed upon him, and yet she knew him not!— Fever was on her lip and in her brain,