 | Poems |  |
[To and fro the Genius flies]
To and fro the Genius flies,A light which plays and hovers
Over the maiden's head
And dips sometimes as low as to her eyes.
Of her faults I take no note,
Fault and folly are not mine;
Comes the Genius,—all 's forgot,
Replunged again into that upper sphere
He scatters wide and wild its lustres here.
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