A MASQUE OF THE SEASONS 



and thicket, past stream and by sleeping 

 pools, till one might say with ^Eglamour: 



" Here she was wont to go; and here, and here, 

 Just where these daisies, pinks, and violets grow, 

 The world may find the Spring by following her, 

 For other print her airy steps ne'er left; 

 Her treading would not bend a blade of grass 

 Or shake the downy blow-ball from his stalk; 

 But like the soft west wind she shot along 

 And where she went the flowers took thickest root, 

 As she had sowed them with her odorous foot." 



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