20

Distrustful of the Gentian-
And just to turn away,
The fluttering of her fringes
Child my perfidy-
Weary for my-----
I will singing go-
I shall not feel the sleet-then-
I shall not fear the snow.

Flees so the phantom meadow
Before the breathless Bee-
So bubble brooks in deserts
On Ears that dying lie-
Burn so the Evening Spires
To Eyes that Closing go-
Hangs so distant Heaven-
To a hand below.