Page:The Vow of the Peacock.pdf/62

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But he who wakes from such a dream, Wakes never more to dream again; The hues have died on life's dull stream, Which seeks that earlier light in vain. But who e'er turned from beauty's ray For fear of future shade; Or who e'er flung a rose away Because that rose might fade. It was a new-born joy to watch Those blue eyes sink beneath his own; The colour of the blush to catch, The colour which his gaze had thrown Upon a cheek, else pale and fair As lilies in the summer air.

Amenaïde sat watching by, With kindled cheek and flashing eye;