Page:The Golden Violet.pdf/14

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With graceful welcome smiled on all, The lady of the festival Wander'd amid her guests; at last, Many a courtly greeting past, She stray'd into a little grove, With cypress branches roofed above; Beneath the path was scarcely seen,— Alike the walk and margent green. So dim it was, each precious stone The countess wore a meteor shone. Yet on she went, for nought her heart In the glad revellings took part: Too tender and too sad to share In sportive mirth, in pageant glare; Dearer to her was the first breath, When morning shakes her early wreath,