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Wind-harp songs
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44
WIND-HARP
SONGS.
A
gift
hath
to
his
lady
borne
In
their
bright
sylvan
room,
A
nest,
mid
orange
leaf
and
thorn
(All
open
to
the
Orient
morn)
And
citrus
bridal
bloom.
I
hear
their
twitterings
sweet
and
low
Behind
the
emerald
screen;
I
hear
a
flower
of
music
grow
That
dims
those
bells
and
buds
of
snow
With
all
their
scent
and
sheen.
Sweet
solace
of
the
Southern
home,
The
bird
I
love
the
best;
Within
thy
brain
some
mirthful
gnome
Sure
bids
thee
brew
this
mocking
foam
Poured
sparkling
from
thy
breast.
WOMEN
POETS.
f~\
WOMAN
!
Poem
alive,
to
me
;
\^J
I
wonder
not
you
are
unversed
in
verserie-
Can
a
poem
itself
make
poetry?
>>