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On Viol and Flute

By Edmund W. Gosse
  
  
  

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XV. RECONCILIATION.
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33

XV. RECONCILIATION.

But walking on the moors at dawn one day,
When all the sky was flushed with rosy hue,
I saw her white robe dabbled in the dew,
Among the sparkling heather where she lay;
Sobbing, she turned from me, and murmured “Nay!”
Then rising from the ground, she strove anew
To turn away, but could not stir, and flew
At last into my arms the old sweet way;
And Love, that watched us ever from afar,
Came fluttering to our side, and cried “O ye,
Who think to fly, ye cannot fly from me;
Lo! I am with you always where you are!”
Yet henceforth are we twain and are not three,
Though Love is on our foreheads like a star.