Page:Thirty poems (IA thirtypoems00bryarich).pdf/129
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SELLA.
123
Or haply they were placed beside the brook
To be a snare. I cannot see thy name
Upon the border,—only characters
Of mystic look and dim are there, like signs
Of some strange art; nay, daughter, wear them not."
Then Sella hung the slippers in the porch
Of that broad rustic lodge, and all who passed,
Admired their fair contexture, but none know
Who left them by the brook And now, at length,
May, with her flowers and singing birds, had gone,
And on bright streams and into deep wells shone
The high, mid-summer sun. One day, at noon,
Sella was missed from the accustomed meal.
They sought her in her favorite haunts, they looked
By the great rock, and far along the stream,
And shouted in the sounding woods her name.
To be a snare. I cannot see thy name
Upon the border,—only characters
Of mystic look and dim are there, like signs
Of some strange art; nay, daughter, wear them not."
Then Sella hung the slippers in the porch
Of that broad rustic lodge, and all who passed,
Admired their fair contexture, but none know
Who left them by the brook And now, at length,
May, with her flowers and singing birds, had gone,
And on bright streams and into deep wells shone
The high, mid-summer sun. One day, at noon,
Sella was missed from the accustomed meal.
They sought her in her favorite haunts, they looked
By the great rock, and far along the stream,
And shouted in the sounding woods her name.