THE FLIGHT.
83
And idle fancies flutter me, I know not where to turn;
Speak to me, sister; counsel me; this marriage must not be.
You only know the love that makes the world a world to me!
Speak to me, sister; counsel me; this marriage must not be.
You only know the love that makes the world a world to me!
XX.
Our gentle mother, had she lived—but we were left alone:
That other left us to ourselves; he cared not for his own;
So all the summer long we roam'd in these wild woods of ours,
My Edwin loved to call us then 'His two wild woodland flowers.'
Our gentle mother, had she lived—but we were left alone:
That other left us to ourselves; he cared not for his own;
So all the summer long we roam'd in these wild woods of ours,
My Edwin loved to call us then 'His two wild woodland flowers.'
