THE PHOTOGRAPH
O Beauty, what is this?
A shadow of your face . . .
Where is the wild-flower grace
That Love is wont to kiss?
A shadow of your face . . .
Where is the wild-flower grace
That Love is wont to kiss?
Where is the bird that brings
To your untroubled eyes
The blue of fairy skies,
The flash of fairy wings? . . .
To your untroubled eyes
The blue of fairy skies,
The flash of fairy wings? . . .
O wild bird of delight,
That no white hand may hold,
Or fairest cage of gold . . .
For who would stay its flight?
That no white hand may hold,
Or fairest cage of gold . . .
For who would stay its flight?
The song-bird of your voice.
Whose magic song Love hears,
Trembling behind your tears,
Trilling when you rejoice . . .
Whose magic song Love hears,
Trembling behind your tears,
Trilling when you rejoice . . .
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