Page:The Venetian Bracelet.pdf/304

Rh

Unstring thy lute, and close thy page, And choose an humbler part; Turn not thy glistening eyes above, Dwell only in thy household love, Forgetting what thou art; And yet life like what this must be Seems but a weary lot for thee.

Or trust thee to thy soaring wing, Awake the gifted lay; Fling life's more quiet happiness For its wild dreams away. 'Tis a hard choice: on either side Thy heart must with itself divide, Be thy doom what it may. Life's best to win, life's best to lose,— The lot is with thee, maiden,—choose.