Poems (Storrie)/Love's Illusions
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Love's Illusions.
I know a creek, a little creek
Hid in a hill's embraces,
Where they who still for Beauty seek
May find her lingering traces.
The willows, with long tresses bent,
Shadow the water over;
The air has caught a mystic scent—
Well, yes! perhaps it's clover!
Hid in a hill's embraces,
Where they who still for Beauty seek
May find her lingering traces.
The willows, with long tresses bent,
Shadow the water over;
The air has caught a mystic scent—
Well, yes! perhaps it's clover!
I know a beach, a little beach
Of snowy sand, bespangled
With jewels, quaintly carven; each
In strange sea-growths entangled;
The wavelet softly breaks and curls,
Singing in broken trebles,
And stirs the opals and the pearls
———Of course they may be pebbles!
Of snowy sand, bespangled
With jewels, quaintly carven; each
In strange sea-growths entangled;
The wavelet softly breaks and curls,
Singing in broken trebles,
And stirs the opals and the pearls
———Of course they may be pebbles!
I know a song, a lovely song,
One happy thought expressing;
I hear it rising, full and strong,
The listening air caressing.
No mortal knows so rare a tone,
Nor lark in raptures airy;
Some spirit 'tis that calls my own
———They say it's only Mary!
One happy thought expressing;
I hear it rising, full and strong,
The listening air caressing.
No mortal knows so rare a tone,
Nor lark in raptures airy;
Some spirit 'tis that calls my own
———They say it's only Mary!