‘Rise,' said the Master, ‘come unto the feast.'
She heard the call and rose with willing feet;
But thinking it not otherwise than meet
For such a bidding to put on her best, ...
LADY, in thy proud eyes
There is a weary look,
As if the spirit we know through them
Were daunted with rebuke
To think that the heart of man henceforth
Is read like a read book.
Lady, in thy lifted face
The solitude is sore;
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