Page:Maud, and other poems.djvu/74

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Go not, happy day, From the shining fields, Go not, happy day, Till the maiden yields. Rosy is the West, Rosy is the South, Roses are her cheeks, And a rose her mouth. When the happy Yes Falters from her lips, Pass and blush the news O'er the blowing ships. Over blowing seas, Over seas at rest,