Page:Poems Hornblower.djvu/86

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74

The bright rose fled the radiant brow,
And every matchless grace,
And tresses whiter than the snow
Shaded the lovely face;
The form elate in youthful pride
Bent to the faintest blast that sighed.

Yet 'midst that rushing throng I met
One face all calm and sweet;
No cloud was there of vain regret,
No step that would retreat—
Undaunted there that meek form stood,
Fearless in its own sanctitude.

The vision came, and brighter light
Shone from that glorious eye,
And crimsoned with divine delight
The cheek of pallid dye;
As the dark wings rushed on the blast,
Amidst his blissful smiles they passed.