Page:The Vow of the Peacock.pdf/250

Or formed of opals, which will change
    With every changing light.

To-morrow she must turn to sighs
    The smiles she wore to-day;
This moment's look of tenderness,
    The next one must be gay.

Sweet April! thou the emblem art
    Of what my love must be;
One varying like the varying bloom
    Is just the love for me.

R