Page:The princess; a medley (IA princessmedley00tennrich).pdf/161

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A MEDLEY.
153
Their thousand wreaths of dangling water-smoke,That like a broken purpose waste in air:So waste not thou; but come; for all the valesAwait thee; azure pillars of the hearthArise to thee; the children call, and IThy shepherd pipe, and sweet is every sound,Sweeter thy voice, but every sound is sweet;Myriads of rivulets hurrying thro' the lawn,The moan of doves in immemorial elms,And murmuring of innumerable bees.'
 So she low-toned; while with shut eyes I layListening; then look'd. Pale was the perfect face;The bosom with long sighs labour'd; and meekSeem'd the full lips, and mild the luminous eyes,And the voice trembled and the hand. She saidBrokenly, that she knew it, she had fail'dIn sweet humility; had fail'd in all;That all her labour was but as a blockLeft in the quarry; but she still were loth,
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