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Through the wood-moss, Medora,
The emerald lizards flee,

Away, away,-they will not stay;
Oh, flee not thus from me!

Come to the woods, Medora,

Come to the shade with me;

The roses bloom in that sweet gloom

So bloom, dear rose, for me !

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REINE D'AMOUR.

LOSE as the stars along the sky,
The flowers were in the mead,

The purple heart, and golden eye,
And crimson-flaming weed :-

And each one sigh'd as I went by,
And touch'd my garment green,
And bade me wear her on my heart
And take her for my Queen
Of Love,-

And take her for my Queen.

And one in virgin white was drest
With lowly gracious head;
And one unveil'd a burning breast
With Love's own ardour red;

All rainbow bright, with laughter light,

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They flicker'd o'er the green,

Each whispering I should pluck her there

And take her for my Queen

Of Love,

And take her for my Queen.

But sudden at my feet look'd up
A little star-like thing,

Pure odour in pure perfect cup,

That made my bosom sing.

'Twas not for size, nor gorgeous dyes,

But her own self, I ween,

Her own sweet self, that bade me stoop
And take her for my Queen
Of Love,—

And take her for my Queen.

Now all day long and every day

Her beauty on mẹ grows,

And holds with stronger sweeter sway

Than lily or than rose ;

And this one star outshines by far
All in the meadow green ;-
And so I wear her on my heart
And take her for my Queen
Of Love,--

And take her for my Queen.

FRANCIS TURNER PALGRAVE.

23

THANK thee, dear, for words that fleet,
For looks that long endure,

For all caresses simply sweet
And passionately pure;

For blushes mutely understood,
For silence and for sighs,
For all the yearning womanhood
Of grey love-laden eyes.

Oh how in words to tell the rest?
My bird, my child, my dove!
Behold I render best for best,
I bring thee love for love.

Oh give to God the love again

Which had from Him its birth,

Oh bless Him, for He sent the twain

Together on the earth.

FREDERICK MYERS.

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MY NEIGHBOUR.

OOVE thou thy Neighbour," we are told, "Even as thyself." That creed I hold ; But love her more, a thousand-fold !

My lovely Neighbour; oft we meet
In lonely lane, or crowded street;

I know the music of her feet.

She little thinks how, on a day,
She must have missed her usual way,
And walked into my heart for aye:

Or how the rustle of her dress
Thrills thro' me like a soft caress,
With trembles of deliciousness.

Wee woman, with her smiling mien,
And soul celestially serene,

She passes me, unconscious Queen!

Her face most innocently good,

Where shyly peeps the sweet red blood:

Her form a nest of Womanhood!

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