Page:Landon in Fisher's Drawing Room Scrap Book 1839.pdf/19

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morning light is in their hair, Golden as ever sunbeams were; The morning light is in their eyes, Azure as ever were the skies:

And every thing in each sweet face Is touched with gladness and with grace; The tones are such as might beseem The colours of a noontide dream;

Some dream, that from external things Borrows the hues that light its wings, And some young sleeper’s head is laid On violets in a pleasant shade.

So like they are—as roses grow Self-same upon the self-same bough, While just some slight shades intervene, To mark a change more felt than seen—

As like they are—as nature, loth To make a difference, modelled both To the same shape—it was so fair That not a grace was left to spare.

With the same fantasy she hung Like music upon either tongue; And when their silver laughter came, Whose sweet laugh was it, none might name.

So much for every outward sign.— The inward world hath deeper shrine; And never beating heart was known Without a likeness of its own.

Only in face the same—each heart Had a sweet empire kept apart, Change infinite asserts its claim— Like—lovely—loved,—but not the same.