Page:The Golden Violet.pdf/102

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And on his brow and on his cheek Are signs that of wildest passions speak, Of one whose fiery will is his law; And his beauty, it strikes on the heart with awe: And the maiden, hers is no smile to brook In meekness the storm of an angry look; For her forehead is proud, and her eyes' deep blue Hath at times a spirit flashing through, That speaks of feelings too fierce to dwell In, woman, thy heart's sweet citadel.

He placed on the golden nuptial band; But the ring hath cut the maiden's hand, And the blood dripp'd red on the altar stone,— Never that stain from the floor hath gone. Away he flung, with a curse, that ring, And replaced it with one more glittering;