For One Of The Three Preceding.

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Emerald! you who, in the olden time,
Lay on her breast and heard its hidden rhyme:
When her sweet passions fluttered to be free
Did not your pale heart strive in sympathy?
In your green depth glowed there no rose sublime?
Or, if her spirit wandered in a clime
Of tranquil joy, you were her gentle mime:
One happy wave above a halcyon sea, Emerald!

Alas! Love’s temple bells no longer chime:
Dead are his altar-fires; his rites a crime:
Now from my life the years fall piteously
As fall the wan leaves from a stricken tree;
And you are all the hoarding of my prime, Emerald!

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