Page:Poems by Frances Fuller Victor.djvu/24

 Ah, well! if I have lost to fate

The greatest boon that heaven disposes,

And closed upon myself the gate

To fields of bliss, 'tis on these roses,

On this intoxicating air,

The witching influence of the moon,

The poet's rhymes that went in tune

To the night's voices low and rare—

To all that goes to make such hours

Like hasheesh-dreams. These did defy,

With contrary fate-compelling power

The intended bliss;—'twas June, not I.

Lancaster, Ohio, 1860.

LINES WRITTEN IN AN ALBUM.

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