Explore "Diana Tempest, Volume II" by Mary Cholmondeley on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
"Love, how it sells poor bliss / For proud despair! " / SHELLEY.
It was Sunday morning, and it was something more. There was a subtle change in the air, a mystery in the sunshine. Autumn and summer were met in tremulous wedlock. But the hand of the bride trembled in the bridegroom's. In the rapture of bridal there was a prophesy of parting and death. The birds knew it. In the songless silence the robin was practising his autumn reverie. Joy and sadness were blent together in the solemn beauty of transition.