The Maiden In The Mist

November 11, 2010
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I thwart my walk, and yonder, see-
A moorland in its silent sleep;
With its violets bound in rising grass,
And its soul hidden in misty keep.

I thwart my heart, and yonder, see-
A maiden in the thickening mist.
Like a cloud of bloom, drifts and pass
Above the grass, between the trees.

With hidden feet in the rising grass,
And gown of white in ruffled flight,
Guide and guard the moorland mist,
Hide and seek within my sight.

Strain I do to glimpse her eyes,
And endeavor to touch her grace;
Like a zephyr of dust in the desert skies,
She glides away and veils her face.

All the while, through the pall of white,
I softly tread and try to find,
The maiden in her silent flight,
Haste, ere I run out of time.

I run and chase, enchanted still,
And the maiden, I never found;
But moor and mist did never cease,
And then I knew I had been bound.

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