Page:The Vow of the Peacock.pdf/204

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Its music like a natural anthem breathed. Lowly the osier'd graves around, wild flowers Their epitaph, and not one monument Was there rich with the sculptor's graceful art. There sat one, by a grave whose weeded turf Shewed more than common care, his face bent down, A fine and manly brow, though sun and wind Had darkened it, and that a shade of grief Seemed natural from long habit; by his side A little laughing child, with clear blue eyes, Cheek like a dimpled rose, and sunny curls, Was gathering blossoms, gathering but to crush, Till the sod was all colours with the leaves. Even in childhood's innocence of pleasure Lives that destroying spirit which in time Will waste, then want, the best of happiness.