By Ruby Archer
She treads the mystic trail
That points to yonder peak;
Her raptured eyes to the morning skies
A world of homage speak.
The sunshine wanders down,
Half drowsed in dreams of mist,
And wakes the trees with his breath of breeze
To a sense of something missed.
Wild roses touch her feet
In timid, loving sighs;
She wants no rose but the light that glows
On the infinite morning skies.
The harebells throng around
A fairy chime to teach;
She loves a fern she can just discern,—
Her hand can never reach.
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