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A STORY.
In a gleam of sunshine a gentian stood,
Dreaming her life away,
While the leaves danced merrily through the wood,
And rode on the wind for play.

She stood in the light and looked at the sky,
Till her leaves were as fair a blue;
But she shut her heart from the butterfly
And the coaxing drops of dew.

Dreaming and sunning that autumn noon,
She stayed the idlest bee
That ever lingered to hear the tune
Of the wind in a rustling tree.

He had a golden cuirass on,
And a surcoat black as night,
And he wandered ever from shade to sun,
Seeking his own delight.