Through the ghoul-guarded gateways of slumber,
Past the wan-mooned abysses of night,
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It was in the pale garden of Zais;
The mist-shrouded gardens of Zais,
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Little Tiger, burning bright
With a subtle Blakeish light,
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The thing, he said, would come in the night at three
From the old churchyard on the hill below;
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Si veris magna paratur
Fama bonis, et se successu nuda remoto
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May good St. Nick, like as a bird of night,
Bring thee rich blessings in his annual flight;
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Once more the ancient feast returns,
And the bright hearth domestic burns
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The steeples are white in the wild moonlight,
And the trees have a silver glare;
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How sad droop the willows by Zalal's fair side,
Where so lately I stray'd with my raven-hair'd bride;
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'Tis a grove-circled dwelling
Set close to a hill,
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There's an ancient, ancient garden that I see sometimes in dreams,
Where the very Maytime sunlight plays and glows with spectral gleams;
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They cut it down, and where the pitch-black aisles
Of forest night had hid eternal things,
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I
Out of the reaches of illimitable night
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Ah, Passion, like a voice - that buds!
With many thorns...that sharply stick:
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The cloudless day is richer at its close;
A golden glory settles on the lea;
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St. John, whose art sublimely shines
In liquid odes and melting lines,
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Where bay and river tranquil blend,
And leafy hillsides rise,
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At morn the rosebud greets the sun
And sheds the evening dew,
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The hours of night unheeded fly,
And in the grate the embers fade;
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In a vale of light and laughter,
Shining 'neath the friendly sun,
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A Fable
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The vicar sat in the firelight's glow,
A volume in his hand,
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How dull the wretch, whose philosophic mind
Disdains the pleasures of fantastic kind;
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There is snow on the ground,
And the valleys are cold,
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Eighteenth Baron Dunsany
As when the sun above a dusky wold,
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I am a peaceful working man,
I am not wise or strong,
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As when a pigeon, loos'd in realms remote,
Takes instant wing, and seeks his native cote,
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As Christmas snows (as yet a poet's trope)
Call back one's bygone days of youth and hope,
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The cottage hearth beams warm and bright,
The candles gaily glow;
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It was golden and splendid,
That City of light;
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