Page:Poetical Remains.pdf/123

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Till the purple Heavens in thee Set their smile, Anemone?

Or can those warm tints be caught Each from some quick glow of thought? So much of bright soul there seems In thy bendings and thy gleams, So much thy sweet life resembles That which feels, and weeps, and trembles; I could deem thee spirit-filled, As a reed by music thrilled, When thy Being I behold To each loving breath unfold, Or like woman's willowy form, Shrink before the gathering storm; I could ask a voice from thee Delicate Anemone!

Flower! thou seem'st not born to die, With thy radiant purity,