 | Lays of France |  |
But his coming brought
The new strange miracle of love
Upon her; and her heart, estranged
From all that once had seemed enough,
Sprang sudden at him as a bird
Breaking a snare, or as a free
Blithe butterfly some second birth
Lifts in the air, no more to be
The joyless worm it was on earth.
The new strange miracle of love
Upon her; and her heart, estranged
From all that once had seemed enough,
Sprang sudden at him as a bird
Breaking a snare, or as a free
Blithe butterfly some second birth
Lifts in the air, no more to be
The joyless worm it was on earth.
| Lays of France | |