"My bower! The fair Fay twined it round me,
Care nor trouble can pierce it through;
But once a sigh from the warm world found me
Between two leaves that were bent with dew.
"And day to night, and night to morrow,
Though soft as slumber the long hours wore,
I looked for my dower of love, of sorrow--
Is there no more--no more--no more?_'
"Give her the sun-sweet light, and duly
To walk in shadow, nor chide her part;
Give her the rose, and truly, truly--
To wear its thorn with a patient heart--
"Misty as dreams the moonbeam lyeth
Chequered and faint on her charmed floor;
The lady singeth, the lady sigheth--
'_Is there no more_--no more--no more!_'"
VI. LOVERS.
A crash of boughs!--one through them breaking!
Mercy is startled, and fain would fly,
But e'en as she turns, her steps o'ertaking,
He pleads with her--"Mercy, it is but I!"
"Mercy!" he touches her hand unbidden--
"The air is balmy, I pray you stay--
Mercy?" Her downcast eyes are hidden,
And never a word she has to say.
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