Page:The Vow of the Peacock.pdf/158



Gleamings of poetry,—if I may give That name of beauty, passion, and of grace, To the wild thoughts that in a starlit hour, In a pale twilight, or a rose-bud morn, Glance o'er my spirit—thoughts that are like light, Or love, or hope, in their effects.

clear fountain, with green willow trees Girdling it round, there is one single spot Where you may sit and rest, its only bank; Elsewhere the willows grow so thick together: And it were like a sin to crush that bed Of pale and delicate narcissus flowers, Bending so languidly, as still they found In the pure wave a love and destiny;