The winged seed on the cradling air,。，VII
Ay, the soul in her body must be a stout cord;。，The knock of the winter rose.
To gaze her fill on Autumn's sunset skies,。，A fountain of leaves over bosom and back.
O my lover! the night like a broad smooth wave。，His heart!--where's the leg of the poor little maid!
。，Back to back they stand and blow
Nor quicken aged blood in vain,。，They swing in the branches, they roll in the moss,
。，The sky's a blue dish!--an implacable sky!
And the bird sings over the roses.。，
And is our only visible friend.。，When through the household flew the tale:
'Mid those bunched fruits and thronging figures failed.。，If Molly goes crippled that we may be taught:
。，The spirit bursting from the tree,
The parson declares that her woes weren't designed;。，
O forgive her:- she was but as dead lilies are:。，
Red rose and white in the garden;。，Sprang realms of rosy fruitage o'er her eyes.
The crimson-footed nymph is panting up the glade,。，
，With the song of the sea to the land.。，Why, then it's all chance-work! And yet, in her eyes,