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CHAPTER VII.
It matters not its history—Love has wings,
Like lightning, swift and fatal; and it springs,
Like a wild flower, where it is least expected;
Existing, whether cherished or rejected.
A mystery art thou!—thou mighty one!
We speak thy name in beauty; yet we shun
To say thou art our guest; for who will own
His life thy empire, and his heart thy throne?
Blanchard’s title is:
LOVE A MYSTERY
From A Girl at her Devotions in The Troubadour
