Page:The Venetian Bracelet.pdf/109

98

Part of its heavy length; his sweet hopes droop. Like prison'd birds that know their cage has bars, The body wearies, and the mind is worn— That worst of lassitude:—hot noon comes on; There is no freshness in the sultry air, There is no rest upon the toilsome road; There is the summit, which he may not reach, And round him are a thousand obstacles. "I am a woman:—tell me not of fame. The eagle's wing may sweep the stormy path, And fling back arrows, where the dove would die. Look on those flowers near yon acacia tree— The lily of the valley—mark how pure The snowy blossoms,—and how soft a breath Is almost hidden by the large dark leaves. Not only have those delicate flowers a gift