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To H.R.H. Princess Beatrice

       
    Two Suns of Love make day of human life,
    Which else with all its pains, and griefs, and deaths,
    Were utter darkness–one, the Sun of dawn
    That brightens thro’ the Mother’s tender eyes,
    And warms the child’s awakening world–and one
    The later-rising Sun of spousal Love,
    Which from her household orbit draws the child
    To move in other spheres. The Mother weeps
    At that white funeral of the single life,
    Her maiden daughter’s marriage; and her tears
    Are half of pleasure, half of pain–the child
    Is happy–even in leaving her! but thou,
    True daughter, whose all-faithful, filial eyes
    Have seen the loneliness of earthly thrones,
    Wilt neither quit the widow’d Crown, nor let
    This later light of Love have risen in vain,
    But moving thro’ the Mother’s home, between
    The two that love thee, lead a summer life,
    Sway’d by each Love, and swaying to each Love,
    Like some conjectured planet in mid heaven
    Between two suns, and drawing down from both
    The light and genial warmth of double day.
     


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