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SHE was not white nor brown But could look either, like a mist that changed According to being shone on more or less.

The hair, too, ran its opulence of curls

In doubt 'twixt dark and bright, nor left you clear

To name the color. Too much hair perhaps

(I'll name a fault here) for so small a head,

Which seemed to droop on that side and on this,

As a full-blown rose, uneasy with its weight,

Though not a breath should trouble it. Again,

The dimple in the cheek had better gone

With redder, fuller rounds: and somewhat large

The mouth was, though the milky little teeth

Dissolved it to so infantine a smile!

[From Aurora Leigh.]
IN STRUGGLE.

ALAS, long suffering and most patient
God,

Thou need'st be surelier God to bear with us

Than even to have made us! thou aspire, aspire

From henceforth for me! thou who hast, thyself,

Endured this fleshhood, knowing how, as a soaked

And sucking vesture, it would drag us down

And choke us in the melancholy deep,

Sustain me, that, with thee, I walk these waves,

Resisting!-breathe me upward, thou for me

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ROBERT BROWNING.

PROSPICE.

FEAR death?-to feel the fog in my throat,

The mist in my face,

When the snows begin, and the blasts denote

I am nearing the place, The power of the night, the press of the storm,

The post of the foe;

Where he stands, the Arch-Fear in a visible form,

Yet the strong man must go; Now the journey is done and the summit attained,

And the barriers fall,

Though a battle 's to fight ere the guerdon be gained,

The reward of it all.

I was ever a fighter, so,- one fight

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While I found some way undreamed, -Paid my debt!

Give more life and more,

Till, all gone,

Sixteen years old when she died! Perhaps she had scarcely heard my

name,

It was not her time to love; beside, Her life had many a hope and aim, Duties enough and little cares;

And now was quiet, now astir, — Till God's hand beckoned unawares, And the sweet white brow is all of her.

Is it too late, then, Evelyn Hope? What! your soul was pure and true; The good stars met in your horoscope, Made you of spirit, fire, and dew;

He should smile, "She never seemed And just because I was thrice as old,

Mine before.

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And our paths in the world diverged so wide,

Each was naught to each, must I be told?

We were fellow-mortals, beside?

No, indeed! for God above

naught

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I have lived, shall I say, so much since HOW THEY BRought the GOOD

then,

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NEWS FROM GHENT TO AIX.

I SPRANG to the stirrup, and Joris and he:

I

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galloped, Dirck galloped, we galloped all three;

Good speed!" cried the watch as the gate-bolts undrew, "Speed!" echoed the wall to us galloping through.

Behind shut the postern, the lights sank to rest,

And into the midnight we galloped abreast.

Not a word to each other; we kept the great pace –

Neck by neck, stride by stride, never changing our place;

I turned in my saddle and made its girths tight,

Then shortened each stirrup and set the pique right,

Rebuckled the check-strap, chained

slacker the bit,

Nor galloped less steadily Roland a

whit.

'Twas moonset at starting; but while we drew near

Lokeren, the cocks crew and twilight dawned clear;

At Boom a great yellow star came out to see;

At Duffeld 'twas morning as plain as could be;

And from Mecheln church-steeple we heard the half-chime

So Joris broke silence with "Yet there is time!"

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At

Its petals up; so, here and there
You brush it, till I grow aware
Who wants me, and wide open burst.

The Bee's kiss, now!

Kiss me as if you entered gay
My heart at some noonday,
A bud that dared not disallow
The claim, so all is rendered up,
And passively its shattered cup
Over your head to sleep I bow.

Aerschot up leaped of a sudden the sun,

And against him the cattle stood black every one,

To stare through the mist at us galloping past;

And I saw my stout galloper Roland at last,

With resolute shoulders, each butting

away

The haze, as some bluff river headland its spray;

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