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"O why the secret keep from one, Whose heart is fixed on thee alone! Say who thou art, from whom descended, Some Peri with a mortal blended. For every maid who sees that face, That cypress-form replete with grace, Becomes a victim to the wiles Which nestle in those dimpled smiles; Becomes thy own adoring slave, Whom nothing but thy love can save." To this Saiáwush made no reply.
The silvery mohonono, which in the tropics is in form like the cedar of Lebanon, stands in pleasing contrast with the dark color of the motsouri, whose cypress-form is dotted over at present with its pleasant scarlet fruit.
They said to her: "Never was seen so sweet a flower, In garden, vale, or fairy bower; The moon is on thy lovely face, Thy cypress-form is full of grace; But why, with charms so soft and meek, Dost thou the lonely forest seek?" She replied that her father was a violent man, and that she had left her home to escape his anger.
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