THE ROSE.
191
And still each throbbing pulse, ere she might kneel
And pray for peace she had not sought to feel.
She sought the casement, lured by the soft light
Of the young moon, now rising on the night.
The cool breeze kiss'd her, and a jasmine spray
Caught in her tresses, as to woo her stay.
And there were sights and sounds that well might fling
A charmed trance on deepest suffering.
For stood the palace close on the sea shore;
Not like the northern ones, where breakers roar,
And rugged rocks and barren sands are blent,—
At once doth desolate and magnificent;
But here the beach had turf, and trees that grew
Down to the waterside, and made its blue
