Praised be the moon of books! that doth above
A world of men, the fallen Past behold,
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The breath of dew, and twilight's grace,
Be on the lonely battle-place;
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Above the wall that's broken,
And from the coppice thinned,
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The sun that hurt his lovers from on high
Is fallen; she more merciful is nigh,
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I hear in my heart, I hear in its ominous pulses,
All day, on the road, the hoofs of invisible horses,
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In Doric Hall, Massachussetts State House
Dear witnesses, all-luminous, eloquent,
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Down the long road, bent and brown,
Youth, that dearly loves a vision,
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High-hearted Surrey! I do love your ways,
Venturous, frank, romantic, vehement,
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The evenfall, so slow on hills, hath shot
Far down into the valley's cold extreme,
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Across the bridge, where in the morning blow
The wrinkled tide turns homeward, and is fain
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Ye daffodilian days, whose fallen towers
Shielded our paradisal prime from ill,
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I would unto my fair restore
A simple thing:
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I
The mare is pawing by the oak,
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Keep holy watch with silence, prayer, and fasting
Till morning break, and all the bugles play;
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I
We chose the faint chill morning, friend and friend,
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Open, Time, and let him pass
Shortly where his feet would be!
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She alone of Shepherdesses
With her blue disdayning eyes,
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Waiting on Him who knows us and our need,
Most need have we to dare not, nor desire,
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The spacious open vale, the vale of doom,
Is full of autumn sunset; blue and strong
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Thabor of England! since my light is short
And faint, O rather by the sun anew
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Like bodiless water passing in a sigh,
Thro' palsied streets the fatal shadows flow,
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A man said unto his Angel: "My spirits are fallen low,
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The Ox he openeth wide the Doore
And from the Snowe he calls her inne,
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ARE favoring ladies above thee?
Are there dowries and lands? Do they say
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HIGH above hate I dwell:
O storms! farewell.
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GOOD oars, for Arnold’s sake,
By Laleham lightly bound,
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THERE in his room, whene’er the moon looks in,
And silvers now a shell, and now a fin,
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SUCH natural debts of love our Oxford knows,
So many ancient dues undesecrate,
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I TRY to knead and spin, but my life is low the while.
Oh, I long to be alone, and walk abroad a mile;
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TRUE love’s own talisman, which here
Shakespeare and Sidney failed to teach,
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