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With loitering step and quiet eye, Beneath the low November sky,
56 lines
What would'st thou have for easement after grief, When the 
69 lines
T-day the world is wide and fair
With sunny fields of lucid air,
40 lines
The full, clear moon uprose and spread
Her cold, pale splendor o'er the sea;
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For three whole days across the sky,
In sullen packs that loomed and broke,
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White are the far-off plains, and white
The fading forests grow;
36 lines
Mother, to whose valiant will
Battling long ago,
8 lines, 1 comment
Think not, oh master of the well-tilled field,
This earth is only thine; for after thee,
8 lines
It fell on a day I was happy,
And the winds, the concave sky,
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The sun looks over a little hill
And floods the valley with gold--
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March is slain; the keen winds fly;
Nothing more is thine to do;
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Now hath the summer reached her golden close,
And, lost amid her corn-fields, bright of soul,
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There is singing of birds in the deep wet woods,
In the heart of the listening solitudes,
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Now overhead,
Where the rivulet loiters and stops,
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Again the warm bare earth, the noon
That hangs upon her healing scars,
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Subtly conscious, all awake,
Let us clear our eyes, and break
236 lines
Once, long ago, before the gods
Had left this earth, by stream and forest glade,
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With a turn of his magical rod,
That extended and suddenly shone,
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Here when the cloudless April days begin,
And the quaint crows flock thicker day by day,
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On such a day the shrunken stream
Spends its last water and runs dry;
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Grief was my master yesternight;
To-morrow I may grieve again;
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With what doubting eyes, oh sparrow,
Thou regardest me,
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I passed through the gates of the city,
The streets were strange and still,
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No wind there is that either pipes or moans;
The fields are cold and still; the sky
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O doubts, dull passions, and base fears,
That harassed and oppressed the day,
8 lines
Along the narrow sandy height
I watch them swiftly come and go,
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Long, long ago, it seems, this summer morn
That pale-browed April passed with pensive tread
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From this windy bridge at rest,
In some former curious hour,
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To the distance! Ah, the distance!
Blue and broad and dim!
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The earth is the cup of the sun,
That he filleth at morning with wine,
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1 - 30 of 30
1 - 30 of 30
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