Page:The Venetian Bracelet.pdf/274

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Affection is an awful thing!—Alas! We give our destiny from our own hands, And trust to those most frail of all frail things, The chances of humanity. —The wind hath a deep sound, more stern than sweet; And the dark sky is clouded; tremulous, A few far stars—how pale they look to-night!— Touch the still waters with a fitful light. There is strange sympathy between all things, Though in the hurrying weariness of life We do not pause to note it: the glad day, Like a young king surrounded by the pomp Of gold and purple, sinks but to the shade Of the black night:—the chronicle I told