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Through The Trees

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If I had known whose face I’d see

Above the hedge, beside the rose;

If I had known whose voice I’d hear

Make music where the wind-flower blow’s,—

I had not come; I had not come.

If I had known his deep “I love “

Could make her face so fair to see;

If I had known her shy “And I”

Could make him stoop so tenderly,—

I had not come; I had not come.

But what knew I? The summer breeze

Stopped not to cry “Beware! beware!”

The vine-wreaths drooping from the trees

Caught not my sleeve with soft “Take care!”

And so I came, and so I came.

The roses that his hands have plucked,

Are sweet to me, are death to me;

Between them, as through living flames

I pass, I clutch them, crush them, see!

The bloom for her, the thorn for me.

The brooks leap up with many a song—

I once could sing, like them could sing;

They fall; ‘tis like a sigh among

A world of joy and blossoming.—

Why did I come? Why did I come?

The blue sky burns like altar fires—

How sweet her eyes beneath her hair!

The green earth lights its fragrant pyres;

The wild birds rise and flush the air;

God looks and smiles, earth is so fair.

But ah! ‘twixt me and yon bright heaven

Two bended heads pass darkling by;

And loud above the bird and brook

I hear a low “I love,” “And I “—

And hide my face. Ah God! Why? Why?

The Defence Of The Bride

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