Page:The Golden Violet.pdf/15

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And joys in the young smiles of day, Albeit they steal her pearls away: Dearer to her the last pale light That lingers on the brow of night, As if unwilling to begone, And abdicate its lovely throne: Dearer to her were these than all That ever shone in lighted hall.

The young, the gay, be they allow'd One moment's pleasaunce in the crowd; The dance, the odours, song, and bloom, Those soft spells of the banquet-room: They last not, but the ear, the eye, Catch the check'd frown—the hidden sigh, Which pierce too soon the shining mask, And prove delight may be a task.