Page:Moyarra- An Australian Legend in Two Cantos, 1891.djvu/66

No longer thy distempered view:
The ringlet curls which wont to stray
Adown those cheeks in wreathed play,
No longer weave their witching maze
Ensnaring thy rapt gaze,
But, like the bruised tendril, cling
⁠Lifeless and withering:
Still, in their last act merciful.
They shroud from thee those orbs, now dull,
Whose twin-born beams with grateful ray
Once cheered, with added light, thy day.
⁠Yet gazest thou? fond fool! desist:
Like thee have thousand thousands striven
⁠The spectre in his course to arrest
Whose mystery is yet unriven:
And still, as to the rapid driven
The mighty river's ceaseless swell,
Of which no drop returns to tell
The thronging myriads where it fell,
But plunges to the drear abyss—
Thus much alone revealed "It is"—
Or as of mist the floating stream
Which wavers in the morning beam,
Anon, its grossness laid aside