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THE BOOK

I MOVED from the sun-warmed garden-seat,
  Where the damask-rose petals covered the
     ground,
And all the people with quiet feet
   Followed the mass-bell's holy sound.

I left the terrace; I wandered away,
   Past larkspur and lilies and monk's-hood tall,
To where the lake in its reed-bed lay,
   On the sunset-side of the castle wall.

With a thousand years in its human sigh
   The vesper murmur came to me
Of the people's patient piety;
   Then my heart stopped. What did I see?

I saw her — I saw what the moonlit spell
   Summoned by my dark heathen book,
Night by night had brought! Too well
   I saw her. Too well I knew her look.

O lost one — lost one — from days long dead,
   When love gave all and died when it gave!
O head thrown back! O arms outspread!
   O passion stronger than the grave!

When the people returned on quiet feet
   From following the mass-bell's holy sound,