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Rh The violon's song rang loud and clear: They saw a garden all fair appear, Perfumed with roses and blossoms white, Lifting their heads to the sun's hot light. A statue stood there amidst them all— A cry of wonder went down the hall— For at its base, kneeling all alone, Pressing warm lips to the feet of stone, Raising soft hands to the face above, A maiden was breathing her soul in love. Gold-hearted lilies and roses sweet She culled and laid at the statue's feet, But touching the stone each flower would die. The maid arose with a mournful cry. And glanced in fear round the garden fair: It was weeds and thorns that flourished there. ‘O love,’ she cried, ‘I am sore afraid— The night has come and my blossoms fade.’ Raising her arms to the stony face, The statue fell at her slight embrace; Down at her feet her idol lay— An empty shell was this broken day. Amidst the fragments she sought to find Her god of Beauty, her love so kind. Her faith, her hopes, that were scattered all; Her cry was echoed within the hall;