56
INTERLUDES.
Of love that is not passion—spirit bred—
Which on its own sweet thoughts is nourishèd.
And as she mused there stole upon her ear
The melting strains of music, low and clear,
Which, wafted by the breeze, did seem to float
From out a swift and airy little boat
That blithely danced along the shining lake,
And left behind bright gleamings in its wake.
The tiny bark approached the shelving shore,
And he within, that plied the flashing oar,
Full quickly brought his fragile craft to land,
Then from it lightly leaped upon the sand.
Which on its own sweet thoughts is nourishèd.
And as she mused there stole upon her ear
The melting strains of music, low and clear,
Which, wafted by the breeze, did seem to float
From out a swift and airy little boat
That blithely danced along the shining lake,
And left behind bright gleamings in its wake.
The tiny bark approached the shelving shore,
And he within, that plied the flashing oar,
Full quickly brought his fragile craft to land,
Then from it lightly leaped upon the sand.
He was a radiant youth of noble birth,
And beauteous as the former sons of earth.
His frame was lithe, and delicately fair
Were the loose ringlets of his wavy hair.
His face was of that loftiness of cast
Born from the knowledge of a noble past.
And beauteous as the former sons of earth.
His frame was lithe, and delicately fair
Were the loose ringlets of his wavy hair.
His face was of that loftiness of cast
Born from the knowledge of a noble past.
