Theodore Watts-Dunton

(1832-1914 / England)


I see thee pine like her in golden story
Who, in her prison, woke and saw, one day,
The gates thrown open--saw the sunbeams play,
With only a web 'tween her and summer's glory;
Who, when that web--so frail, so transitory
It broke before her breath--had fallen away,
Saw other webs and others rise for aye
Which kept her prison till her hair was hoary.
Those songs half-sung that yet were all divine--

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