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21
MADELINE.
Thou art not steeped in golden languors,
No trancéd summercalm is thine,
Evervarying Madeline.
Through light and shadow thou dost range,
Sudden glances, sweet and strange,
Delicious spites, and darling angers,
And aery forms of flitting change.
No trancéd summercalm is thine,
Evervarying Madeline.
Through light and shadow thou dost range,
Sudden glances, sweet and strange,
Delicious spites, and darling angers,
And aery forms of flitting change.
