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One by one the pale stars faded, and at length the morning broke;
flow? Clinging closely to each other, striving never to look round As they passed with silent shudder the pale corses on the ground, Came two little maidens-sisters—with a light and hasty tread, And a look upon their faces half of sorrow, half of dread.
And they did not pause nor falter till, with throbbing hearts, they
stood Where the Drummer-boy was lying in that partial solitude.
They had brought some simple garments from their wardrobe's scanty
store, And two heavy iron shovels in their slender hands they bore.
Then they quickly knelt beside him, crushing back the pitying tears,
For their saintly hearts yearned o'er it in that hour of sorest need,
But the day was slowly breaking ere their holy work was done, And in crimson pomp the morning again heralded the sun.
And then those little maidens—they were children of our foes-
CONSIDER the sea's listless chime:
Time's self it is, made audible
The murmur of the earth's own shell.
Our sight may pass
No quiet, which is death's—it hath
The mournfulness of ancient life,
Enduring always at dull strife.
Its painful pulse is in the sands.
Lost utterly, the whole sky stands, Gray and not known, along its path.
Listen alone beside the sea
Listen alone among the woods :
Those voices of twin solitudes Shall have one sound alike to thee:
Hark where the murmurs of throngèd men
Surge, and sink back, and surge againStill the one voice of wave and tree.
Gather a shell from the strown beach,
And listen at its lips : they sigh
The same desire and mystery,
And all mankind is thus at heart
Not anything but what thou art ; And Earth, Sea, Man, are all in each.
CHRISTINA GABRIELLA ROSSETTI.
My heart is like a singing-bird
Whose nest is in a watered shoot; My heart is like an apple-tree
Whose boughs are bent with thickset fruit; My heart is like a rainbow shell
That paddles in a halcyon seaMy heart is gladder than all these,
Because my love is come to me.
Raise me a dais of silk and down,
Hang it with vair and purple dyes, Carve it in doves, and pomegranates,
And peacocks with a hundred eyes; Work it in gold and silver grapes,
In leaves, and silver fleurs-de-lys, Because the birthday of my life
Is come, my love is come to me.
SING NO SAD SONGS FOR ME.
When I am dead, my dearest,
Sing no sad songs for me;
Be the green grass above me
With showers and dew-drops wet, And if thou wilt, remember, ,
And if thou wilt, forget.
I shall not see the shadows,
I shall not feel the rain ;
Sing on, as if in pain ;
That doth not rise nor set, Ilaply I may remember,
And haply may forget.