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Which waves in every raven tress,

Or softly lightens o'er her faceWhere thoughts serenely sweet express

How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.

And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,

So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,

But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,

A heart whose love is innocent.

LORD BYRON.

MAID OF ATHENS,

Maid of Athens, ere we part,
Give, oh, give me back my heart !
Or, since that has left my breast,
Keep it now, and take the rest !
Hear my vow before I go,
Ζώη μου, σας αγαπώ.

By those tresses unconfined,
Woo'd by each Ægean wind;
By those lids whose jetty fringe
Kiss thy soft cheeks' blooming tinge,
By those wild eyes like the roe,
Ζώη μου, σας αγαπώ.

By that lip I long to taste ;
By that zone-encircled waist;

By all the token-flowers that tell
What words can never speak so well ;
By love's alternate joy and woe,
Ζώη μου, σας αγαπώ.

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PALABRAS CARIÑOSAS.

(Spanish Air.)

GOOD-NIGHT! I have to say good-night
To such a host of peerless things !
Good-night unto that fragile hand
All queenly with its weight of rings;
Good-night to fond, uplifted eyes,
Good-night to chestnut braided hair,
Good-night unto the perfect mouth,
And all the sweetness nestled there

The snowy hand detains me, then
I'll have to say Good-night again!

But there will come a time, my love,
When, if I read our stars aright,
I shall not linger by this porch
With my adieus. Till then, good-night!
You wish the time were now? And I.
You do not blush to wish it so ?
You would have blushed yourself to death
To own so much a year ago-

What, both these snowy hands! ah, then
I'll have to say Good-night again !

T. B. ALDRICH.

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IN A GONDOLA.

I.

THE moth's kiss, first !

Kiss me as if you made believe

You were not sure, this eve,
How my face, your flower, had pursed

Its petals up; so, here and there

You brush it, till I grow aware Who wants me, and wide ope I burst.

II.

The bee's kiss, now !

Kiss me as if you entered gay

My heart at some noonday, A bud that dares not disallow

The claim, so all is rendered up,

And passively its shattered cup Over your head to sleep I bow.

ROBERT BROWNING.

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