Page:The Venetian Bracelet.pdf/226

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The heart hath its mystery, and who may reveal it; Or who ever read in the depths of their own?— How much, we never may speak of, yet feel it, But, even in feeling it, know it unknown!

Sky of wild beauty, in those distant ages Of which time hath left scarce a wreck or a name, Say were thy secrets laid bare to the sages, Who held that the stars were life's annals of flame?

Spirit, that ruleth man's life to its ending, Chance, Fortune, Fate, answer my summoning now; The storm o'er the face of the night is descending,— Fair moon, the dark clouds hide thy silvery brow.