Page:Poems Osgood.djvu/40

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30
to sybil.

Sit at his feet, and raise to his
Those large, pure, dreaming eyes,
And tell him all thy lovely thoughts
As radiantly they rise.

Press to his hand that childish cheek,
And stroke his stern dark face,
And charm him with thy ways so meek,
Thy glad, aerial grace!

Look for his coming with clasp'd hands
And hush'd and listening heart,
And strive to hide thy joyous tears
With woman's bashful art.

And in thy low Eolian tones,
Melodiously wild,
Falter thy fond, sweet welcome out,
Oh, rare, enchanting child!

Then if he coldly turn away,
In silence to him steal,
And touch his soul with one long gaze
Of passionate appeal.