Nay, nay, Antonio! nay, thou shalt not blame her, My Gracia, who hath so deserted me.
54 lines
Yes, yes! I love thee, Guilo; thee alone. Why dost thou sigh, and wear that face of sorrow?
54 lines
Adieu, Romauld! But thou canst not forget me. Although no more I haunt thy dreams at night,
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Do you remember the name I wore— The old pet-name of Little Queen—
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And now, when poets are singing Their songs of olden days,
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One bitter time of mourning, I remember,
When day, and night, my sad heart did complain,
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Dost thou not tire, Isaura, of this play? "What play?" Why, this old play of winning hearts!
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You never can tell when you send a word,
Like an arrow shot from a bow
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How terrible these nights are when alone
With our scarred hearts, we sit in solitude,
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Well, how has it been with you since we met That last strange time of a hundred times?
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When the first sere leaves of the year were falling, I heard, with a heart that was strangely thrilled,
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I said this morning, as I leaned and threw My shutters open to the Spring's surprise,
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Let me to-day do something that shall take
A little sadness from the world's vast store,
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I am troubled to-night with a curious pain; It is not of the flesh, it is not of the brain,
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Through rivers of veins on the nameless quest The tide of my life goes hurriedly sweeping,
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Let the dream go. Are there not other dreams
In vastness of clouds hid from thy sight
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If Christ came questioning His world to-day, (If Christ came questioning,)
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Now is the time when India is gay
With wedding parties; and the radiant throngs
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It is a common fate—a woman's lot— To waste on one the riches of her soul,
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She had looked for his coming as warriors come, With the clash of arms and the bugle's call:
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Long have the poets vaunted, in their lays, Old times, old loves, old friendship, and old wine.
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All perfect things are saddening in effect. The autumn wood robed in its scarlet clothes,
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One time in Arcadie's fair bowers There met a bright immortal band,
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There are ghosts in the room.
As I sit here alone, from the dark corners there
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A CURIOUS vision, on mine eyes unfurled In the deep night. I saw, or seemed to see,
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Who is a Christian in this Christian land Of many churches and of lofty spires?
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Though you see no banded army,
Though you hear no cannons rattle,
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What a terrible night! Does the Night, I wonder--
The Night, with her black veil down to her feet
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All nail the dawn of a new day breaking,
When a strong-armed nation shall take away
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Wherefore in dreams are sorrows borne anew, A healed wound opened, or the past revived?
46 lines
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