40
THE VOW OF THE PEACOCK.
But in the midst a plot of grass
Was to the sunshine as a glass;
It had been turf, but weeds and flowers
Had sprung through long-neglected hours.
There stood an aged trunk, 'twas grey
With moss and nature's slow decay.
Yet there a peacock used to come
He chose it for his summer home;
A brave bright bird, whose graceful head
Stooped daily to my hand for bread.
Then would he take his glittering stand,
While to the sun his plumes expand.
So from th' empurpled waves arise
Such colours when the dolphin dies.
I loved it for its beauty's blaze,
I love it now for by-gone days.
