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Poems with Fables in Prose

By Frederic Herbert Trench

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VII

Well, she went back, she faced her fate,
Her tasks, without demur;
Amid the shining cares of state
Were lentils grown for her.
But not long had the pair to wait,
O not long to endure!

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A year thence, at the hour she fell,
Stabbed by some crazy boor,
The old Monk in his convent died
The death of the obscure.
And the pearls? Ah, blithe rejoicing pearls,
Snapt is your rusty chain!
Sucked out to the sea-darkness fresh,
Released and born again,
Somewhere beneath that ruddy crag,
That blue Ionian main,
Freely (for who shall seek the fort,
Angelokastron?) there
Unknown of all men ye may now
Beauty and sheen repair!