37
THE BOON.
BY L. E. L.
Come tell me, love, if I had power
As I have will to waste on thee,—
Not waste—for never fairy's dower
Could seem too precious thine to be:
If I had power to give thee all
The earth, the ocean, or the air
E'er girdled in their mighty thrall,
What wouldst thou, Maiden, for thy share?
What wilt thou have? Shall time restore
The wonders of those fallen walls,
Palmyra's giant domes of yore?
Wilt dwell a queen in marble halls?
Must shining columns rear thy dome
To rival midnight's starry sky?
The quarry yields too mean a home,—
The golden mine shall thine supply.
Kings shall lay down their diadems
To glitter on thy meanest slave;
Thy lightest step shall be on gems,
Or pearls yet dewy from the wave.
