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 THE BOOK MOVED from the sun-warmed garden-seat, Where the damask-rose petals covered the ground, And all the people with quiet feet Followed the mass-bell's holy sound.

I left the terrace; I wandered away, Past larkspur and lilies and monk's-hood tall, To where the lake in its reed-bed lay, On the sunset-side of the castle wall.

With a thousand years in its human sigh The vesper murmur came to me Of the people's patient piety; Then my heart stopped. What did I see?

I saw her — I saw what the moonlit spell Summoned by my dark heathen book, Night by night had brought! Too well I saw her. Too well I knew her look.

O lost one — lost one — from days long dead, When love gave all and died when it gave! O head thrown back! O arms outspread! O passion stronger than the grave!

When the people returned on quiet feet From following the mass-bell's holy sound,