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POEMS.

POEMS.

CLARIBEL.

A MELODY.

WHERE Claribel low-lieth

The breezes pause and die, Letting the rose-leaves fall: But the solemn oak-tree sigheth, Thick-leaved, ambrosial,

With an ancient melody

Of an inward agony, Where Claribel low-lieth.

At eve the beetle boometh

Athwart the thicket lone:

At noon the wild bee hummeth About the mossed headstone:

At midnight the moon cometh
And looketh down alone.
Her song the lintwhite swelleth,
The clear-voiced mavis dwelleth,
The fledgling throstle lispeth,
The slumbrous wave outwelleth,
The babbling runnel crispeth,
The hollow grot replieth

Where Claribel low-lieth.

LILIAN.

AIRY, fairy Lilian,

Flitting, fairy Lilian,

When I ask her if she love me,
Claps her tiny hands above me,

Laughing all she can;

She 'll not tell me if she love me,
Cruel little Lilian.

When my passion seeks

Pleasance in love-sighs,

She, looking through and through me

Thoroughly to undo me,

Smiling, never speaks:

So innocent-arch, so cunning-simple, From beneath her gathered wimple

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