To Vera (1)

By George Sterling

O sweet, wild, woodland grace!
        Goddess and girl!
    Whose solitary face,
Pure as the moonlight's insubstantial pearl,
        Is love's one flow'r,
    Deep set in Eden's bow'r.

Not in this ashen day
    Thy steps should be—
        This weary age grown grey;
But where the choral voices of the sea
        Filled with their peace
    The dryad-hours of Greece.

O starry soul of youth!
O veins divine,
Fed from the breasts of Truth!
The garlands of the beautiful are thine,
        But o'er thy brow
    Time's shadow trembles now.

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