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Show Waiting. From his coueh of sapphire Leapt the old-haired Sun; Seized the star hosts' torches, Quenched them one by one. Drew the silvery mist veils From the young Dawn's face. Kissed her lips like rose leaves, Wooed her, for a space. And my heart sang softly, Half In hepe half fear "With the midday splendor. Will the King appear?" O'er a sea of azure ' Bailed the viking Sun, 'Till the port of Noontide Gloriously was won. All the garden closes Flashed with myriad dyes; As had slipped a rainbow From the arching skies. And my heart sang softly. Striving to gain cheer "With the longed-for to-morrow. Will the King appear?".. Through a field of ashes Creeps the pallid Sun; Worn with toil aid pleasure, Glad the day is done. In the west horizon Not one gleam of gold, . Only ebon storm-clouds Rising fold on fold. But my heart sings softly. To the King come near "Sweet Is even waiting, For I love you, dear." Frances Bartlett in Boston Transcript, j |