  A sudden whir of eager sound— And now a something throbs around The flowers that watch the fountain. Look! It touched the rose, the green leaves shook, I think, and yet so lightly tost That not a spark of dew was lost. Tell me, O Rose, what thing it is That now appears, now vanishes? Surely it took its fire-green hue From daybreaks that it glittered through; Quick, for this sparkle of the dawn Glints through the garden and is gone. What was the message, Rose, what word; Delight foretold, or hope deferred?
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