Page:The Golden Violet.pdf/162

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 Never let the veil be thrown Quite aside, as all were known Of delight and tenderness, In the spirit's last recess; And, one spell all spells above, Never let her own her love.

  from the harp a darker song Is sweeping like the winds along— The night gale, at that dreamy hour When spirit and when storm have power;— Yet sadly sweet: and can this be, , the wreck of thee? Mind, dangerous and glorious gift, Too much thy native heaven has left 