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written by "Meynell, Alice Christiana Thompson, 1847-1922"
... hush!  Thy tears my words are steeping. Oh, hush, hush, hush!  So full, the fount of weeping? Poor eyes, so quickly moved, so near to sleeping? Pardon the girl; such strange desires beset her. Poor woman, lay aside the mournful letter That breaks thy heart; the one who wrote, forget her. The one who now thy faded features guesses, With filial fingers thy grey hair caresses, With morning tears thy mournful twilight blesses. SONG As the inhastening tide doth roll, Dear and desired, along the whole    Wide shining strand, and floods the caves,    Your love comes filling with happy waves The open sea-shore of my soul. But inland from the seaward spaces, None knows, not even you, the places    Brimmed, at your coming, out of sight,    —The little solitudes of delight This tide constrains in dim embraces. You see the happy shore, wave-rimmed, But know not of the quiet dimmed    Rivers your coming floods and fills,    The little pools ’mid happier hills, My silent rivulets, over-brimmed. What, I have secrets from you?  Yes. But, visiting Sea, your love doth press    And reach in further than you know,    And fills all these; and when you go, There’s loneliness in loneliness. BUILDERS OF RUINS We build with strength the deep tower-wall    That shall be shattered thus and thus. And fair and great are court and hall,    But how fair—this is not for us, Who know the lack that lurks in all. We know, we know how all too bright    The hues are that our painting wears, And how the marble gleams too white;—    We speak in unknown tongues, the years Interpret everything aright, And crown with weeds our pride of towers,    And warm our marble through with sun, And break our pavements through with flowers,    With an Amen when all is done, Knowing these perfect things of ours. O days, we ponder, left a...

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