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JEWELS.
A YOUNG MAN TO A MERCHANT.
OLD Man, your pearls are not for us,
Your rubies die too soon:
Have you the pearls of Sirius,
Or opals of the moon?
I do not ask for other gems;
Flashing with frost and fire
The sky's undying diadems
Shall be my love's attire.
Emeralds, that into rubies melt
Upon the brow of night,
I've taken from Orion's belt
To make her girdle bright.
On high ways of the albatross
I scale the purple air
For sapphires of the Southern Cross
And wreathe them in her hair.
Her robe it is the morning sky,
Her veil it is the West;
So robed, so veiled my love will fly,
When I am gone to rest.
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