Page:The Vow of the Peacock.pdf/352

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While he of the lute and the laurel For thee has forgotten the throng, And builds on thy fairy-like beauty A future of sigh and of song. Ay, listen, but as unto music The wild wind is bearing away, As sweet as the sea-shells at evening, But far too unearthly to stay.

For the love-dream that haunts the young poet Is coloured too much by his mind— A fabric of fancy and falsehood, But never for lasting designed. For he lives but in beauty—his visions Inspire with their passion his strain; And the spirit so quick at impression Was never meant long to retain.