This page needs to be proofread.
48
And we find there are rocks in the silvery
sea?
And a dear dead brown bird at the foot of
the tree ?—
Away with the thought! “He is true! he
is true!”
And we gaze in the eyes so much more than
mere blue.
“If he leaves me to-night, he will come again
soon”—
Yes, the winning’est, witchingest witch is the
Moon.
So we linger a little in moonshine and love,
And worship devoutly th’ enchantress above,
As she turns into jewels the frost-covered
wall,
And weaves a gay mantle of splendour o’er
all;
And the two gates of heaven are sweet eyes
of blue
That gaze in our own—ah! so tender and
true;
And the sea still is silvered, the pebble
impearled
By the fairiest fairy in all the wide world.
