DROPS FROM FLORA’S CUP. 83 
I feel their soft breath at my side, 
And I thirst the loved forms to see. 
And I stretch my fond arms around, 
And I catch but a shapeless sound, 
For the living are ghosts to me. 
Come buy, come buy I 
Hark! how the sweet things sigh! 
(For they have a voice like ours.) 
‘ The breath of the blind girl closes 
The leaves of the saddening roses. 
We are tender, we are sons of light, 
We shrink from this child of night: 
From the grasp of the blind girl free us 
We yearn for the eye that sees us; 
We are for night too gay, 
In your eyes we behold the day, 
0 buy, 0 buy these flowers!’ 
