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442 ^HE GOLDEN TREASURY OF |
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HERBERT TRENCH
(1865-------)
THE NIGHT1
I
PUT aside the branches That close the Door on gloom; A glow-worm lit the pathway And a lamp out of her room Shook down a stifled greeting j
How could it greet aright
The thirst of years like deserts
That led up to this night ?
But she, like sighing forests,
Stole on me—full of rest, Her hair was like the sea's wave,
Whiteness was in her breast,— (So does one come, at night, upon a wall of roses.')
As in a stone of crystal
The cloudy web and flaw Turns, at a flash to rainbows,
Wing'd I became—I saw I sang; but human singing
Ceased, in a burning awe.
1 From " Deirdre Wed." Copyright, John Lane. By permission. |
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