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Deep in that palace we shall find How blind we are, how blind! how blind! And how he'll laugh, who holds the key To the great portal's mystery! And how his joyous laugh will ring When you and I shall bid him fling The gates ajar for you and me!

Let shadows flee athwart the lea When dark December strips the hedge Along the icy river's edge; &emsp;Yet, if you will forgive me, lass, The world shall bloom like spring to me, &emsp;Snow turn to dew upon the grass &emsp;And fagots blossom where you pass.

Swallows shall sheer the frozen mere, Dead reeds along the mill-pond's rims Shall thrill with summer-thrushes' hymns, &emsp;While summer breezes blow apace, If you will but forgive me, dear, &emsp;And let me find a moment's grace, &emsp;In your sweet eyes and your dear face.

R. W. C.