Page:The Yellow Book - 06.djvu/373

 Seemed loving her who shone beneath that tree—

With lawns far off whose flower of higher delight

Behind Death's icy peaks and fens of night

Bloomed 'neath a heaven her eyes, not ours, could see.

Brother, did Nature mock us with that glory

Which seemed to prophesy Love's rounded story?

Or was it, that sweet Summer's fond device

To show thee who shall stand on Eden slopes,

Where bloom the broken buds of earthly hopes

Stand waiting 'neath a tree of Paradise?