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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=464750" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>White Magic</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Is it not a wonderful thing to be able to force an astonished plant to bear rare flowers which are foreign to it. . . and to obtain a marvelous result from sap which, left to itself, would have produced corollas without beauty? -VIRGIL.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>I stood forlorn and pale,<br>Pressed by the cold sand, pinched by the thin grass,<br>Last of my race and frail<br>Who reigned in beauty once, when beauty was,<br>Before the rich earth beckoned to the sea,<br>Took his salt lips to taste,<br>And spread this gradual waste-<br>This ruin of lower, this doom of grass and tree.<br>Each Spring could scarcely lift<br>My brows from the sand drift<br>To fill my lips with April as she went,<br>Or force my weariness<br>To its sad, summer dress:<br>On the harsh beach, I heard the grey sea rise,<br>The ragged grass made ceaseless, dim lament,<br>And day and night scarce changed the mournful skies.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Foot on the sand, a shadow on the sea!<br>A face leaned over me.<br>Across each wasted limb<br>Passed healingly a warm, great, god-like hand.<br>I was drawn up to him,<br>From my frail feet fell the last grains of sand.<br>Then haste and darkness stooped and made me theirs;<br>Deep handed me to deep; . . .<br>I faded then as names fade from men's prayers,--<br>As a sigh at last made friends with sleep.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But the same hand that bore me from the sea,<br>Waking me tenderly,<br>Bound me to a rough stranger of my race,--<br>Me weary and pale to him, and him to me.<br>I turned my piteous face<br>Aside ashamed; I struggled to be free.<br>I slept, I dreamed, I woke to that embrace! . . .</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Sweet tides stole through my veins,<br>Strange fires and thrills and pains;<br>To my cold lips the bloom crept back once more<br>I glowed as a bride glows;<br>I watched the day with delicate hands restore<br>My kinship with the rose.<br>About my throat my hair went like a flame,<br>My brows were wreathed, in purple I was dressed,<br>I bore my bride's name,<br>A great star burned my breast.<br>No longer bound, I leaned the same sweet way<br>Towards her lover. Now astonished I<br>Who was a beggar stand obediently<br>Beside Cophetua.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Muriel+Stuart">Muriel Stuart</a><div class=q>
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