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ow, And the warm, wind will laugh, "It's gone, gone, gone!"-- And will, when the immortal soft airs blow, This mortal face of things change and be gone So--and with none to hear How in the night the wind crept near? SLEEPING SEA The sea Was even as a little child that sleeps And keeps All night its great unconsciousness of day. No spray Flashed when the wave rose, drooped, and slowly drew away. No sound From all that slumbering, full-bosomed water came; The sea Lay mute in childlike sleep, the moon was a gold candle-flame. No sound Save when a faint and mothlike air fluttered around. No sound: But as a child that dreams and in his full sleep cries, So turned the sleeping sea and heaved her bosom of slow sighs. THE WEAVER OF MAGIC Weave cunningly the web Of twilight, O thou subtle-fingered Eve! And at the slow day's ebb With small blue stars the purple curtain weave. If any wind there be, Bid it but breathe lightly as woodland violets o'er the sea; If any moon, be it no more than a white fluttering feather. Call the last birds together. O Eve, and let no wisp Of day's distraction thine enchantment mar; Thy soft spell lisp And lure the sweetness down of each blue star. Then let that low moan be A while more easeful, trembling remote and strange, far oversea; So shall the easeless heart of love rest then, or only sigh, Hearing the swallows cry! THE DARKSOME NIGHTINGALE Why dost thou, darksome Nightingale, Sing so distractingly--and here? Dawn's preludings prick my ear, Faint light is creeping up the vale, While on these dead thy rarer Song falls, dark night-farer. Were it not better thou shouldst sing Where the drenched lilac droops her plume, Spreading frail banners of perfume? Or where the easeless pines enring The river-lulled village Whose lads the lilac pillage? Oh, if aught songful these hid bones Might reach, like the slow subtle rain, Surely the dead had risen again And listened, white by the white stones; Back to rich life song-charmed, By ghostly joys alarmed. This may not be. And yet, oh still Pour like night dew thy richer speech Some late-lost youth perchance to reach, Or unloved girl; and stir and fill Their passionless cold bosoms Under red wallflower blossoms! UNDER THE LINDEN BRANCHES Under the linden branches They sit and whisper; Hardly a quiver Of leaves, hardly a lisp or Sigh in t
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