Page:The Vow of the Peacock.pdf/188

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From off the blue-veined temples; on her cheek There is a colour like the moss-rose bud When first it opens, ere the sun and wind Have kissed away its delicate slight blush. And such a fairy shape, as those fine moulds Of ancient Greece, whose perfect grace has given Eternity to beauty. She was loved! And the wild songs that tell how she was loved Yet haunt their native valley. He was one Who had each great and glorious gift, save gold; Music was ever round his steps:—to him There was deep happiness in nature's wild And rich luxuriance, and he had the pride, The buoyant hope, that genius ever feels In dreaming of the path that it will carve To immortality. A sweeter dream