204 
TIIE WHITE PINK. 
Her playful lip was gently full, 
Soft curving to the graceful chin. 
And colour’d like the fruit which glows 
Upon the sunn’d pomegranate boughs. 
And oh ! her soft low voice might lull 
The spirit to a dream of bliss, 
As if the voices, sweet and bland, 
Which murmur in the seraph land, 
Were warbling in a world like this. 
Whittier. 
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