Page:The Blue Bird - Custance (1905).djvu/19

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(Weave nets to snare the dawn
So delicately shy . . .
You catch a butterfly
With all its colours gone.)

O Beauty, what is this?
The shadow of a rose . . .
A little ghost that goes
Oblivious of Love's kiss.

Only a shadow . . . yet
It may, in some dark hour
Recall the living flower . . .
If haply Love forget.

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