Page:The Golden Violet.pdf/18

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On fair went, her mood Deepening with the deep solitude; That gentle sadness which is wrought With more of tenderness, than thought, When memory like the moonlight flings A softness o'er its wanderings,— When hope, a holiday to keep Folds up its rainbow wings for sleep, And the heart, like a bark at rest, Scarce heaves within the tranquil breast,— When thoughts and dreams, that moment's birth Take hues which are not of the earth. But she was waken'd from her dream By sudden flashing of the wave; The cypress first conceal'd the stream, Then oped, as if a spirit gave,