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54
A SKETCH.
People a world of their own fashioning,
Forms for the heart to love and cherish ever,
The visiting angels of our twilight dreams.
Her foot was loveliest of remembered things,
Small as a fairy’s on a moonlit leaf
Listening the wind-harp’s song, and watching by
The wild-thyme pillow of her sleeping queen,
When proud Titania shuns her Oberon.
But ’twas that foot which broke the spell—alas!
Its stocking had a deep, deep tinge of blue—
I turned away in sadness, and passed on.
