For Alice, In Autumn.

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Alice sits weeping in the garden chair.
Yet Love had poured for us a rosy chalice
That spills, alas! in ruin … ’tis by malice
Of some sly deity who harbours there!

And as I stand, “Ah, please to go!” the fair
Sentinel lily hears, who bends her calice
Over the garden chair and weeping Alice.
Yet going, “Do not—leave—me!” thrills the air.

Wondering, I watch a sad cloud hide the sun:
A cloud—a mood—hint for a lover’s part!
I’ll clasp the soft hand by the lily sleeping.…

It clings! A sudden ray gleams in the dun,
And leaps down gulfs of space to light my heart
Where, in the garden chair, Alice smiles weeping.

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