Page:The Venetian Bracelet.pdf/168

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Her comrades, the sweet stars, sink one by one, Lost in the spreading vapours. Yet the lake Has not a shadow. Well may the young Moon Forget her danger, gazing on the face Its silver waters mirror:—all beyond Is like the grave's obscurity; more near All is most tranquil beauty and repose. The garden flowers are paler than by day, And sweeter. What an altar of perfume Is the musk-rose, beneath my casement twined! Dipping its golden tresses in the lake, Leans the laburnum, and beneath its shade Sleep my two swans, as white, as still as snow. —The wind is rising, and a yellow haze, Like a volcano's smoke, makes heaven less dark To be more fearful. I can now discern