Page:Poems by Frances Fuller Victor.djvu/40

 All, all in vain

Sweet day, do I entreat

To stay thy winged feet;

The gloom, the cold, the pain,

Gather me back as thou dost pale and fade;

Yet in my heart I make

A chamber for thy sake,

And keep thy picture in warm color laid:

Thy memory, happy day,

Thou can'st not take away.

St. Helens, Or., 1868.

THE POPPIES OF WA-II-LAT-PU.

Between the zones of ice and sun,

Between the east seas and the west,

Where boundless prairies stretch, where run

Great rivers, born about the crest

Of heaven-piercing mountains, hoar

With centuries of unguessed time,

Within whose murky gorges roar

Vast cataracts, whose awful chime

Shakes the tall spires of rock o'erhead,

Where pines hang shivering with dread:

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