Page:The Improvisatrice.pdf/225

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Would be so soothing, lulled by the low notes The birds sing to the leaves, whose soft reply Is murmured by the wind: the grass beneath Is full of wild flowers, and the cypress boughs Have twined o'er head, graceful and close as love. The sun is shining cheerfully, though scarce His rays may pierce through the dim shade, yet still Some golden hues are glancing o'er the trees, And the blue flood is gliding by, as bright As Hope's first smile. All, lingering, stayed to gaze Upon this Eden of the painter's art, And looking on its loveliness, forgot The crowded world around them!—But a spell Stronger than the green landscape fixed the eye— The spell of woman's beauty!—By a beech Whose long dark shadow fell upon the stream,