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196 THE GOLDEN TREASURY OF |
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Her forehead as the lime-dust was clear, and smooth,
and fair; Her brows were as two swallows, seen far through
summer air; O vain the word that follows, for the wonder of her
hair !
Free curling were her tresses, wide-spreading, odorous,
sweet, And the golden lights, though hiding, in shadowed
depths would meet, Or, down her green robe gliding, would haste to kiss
her feet.
As combs of the wild honey, her teeth were ranged
and white: Her eyes as dewdrops sparkling in the early morning
light; Or as river-waters darkling on a frosty moonlight
night.
" O tell me now, O tell me, what name to call thee by ? O silent, modest maiden, of the chaste and downcast
eye. Bright love, with beauty laden, O tell me, else I die.
"Art thou the sad-eyed Deirdre who mourns the
Red Branch knights ? With Love's prophetic weeping, she left the Albyn
heights." "No; Deirdre still lies sleeping beneath the northern
lights." |
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