Page:Verses–Blanche·Baughan-1898.pdf/51

 And climbing a near stairway steep, There, O the wonder! poised clate, With eyes that danced, and yet were deep With secrets that they scarce could keep, Alone, aloft, she sate; And with serene contentment view’d Poor rival and fond multitude!―

—She sees her gold and purple gay Its undull’d flutter round her make; She hears, within, her music play Unmarr’d—and her whole soul can say, “It is but a mistake! Tho’ at her feet my pennies fall, I am the right one, after all!”