Poems (Hardy)/A cameo

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A CAMEO

SHE bowed her head above a book;
 I saw her face in shade;
The beauty of her tranquil look
 The book's reflection made.

Her hand lay white upon the page,
 Her hair, dull gold, hung low;
Or whether bard she read, or sage,
 Little I cared to know.

A pleasant picture, purely set,
 Its mood all fair, though grave,
The virtue of an amulet
 To my remembrance gave.

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