I am the Empire in the last of its decline,
That sees the tall, fair-haired Barbarians pass,--the while
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The milky sky, the hazy, slender trees,
Seem smiling on the light costumes we wear,--
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The courtly serenaders,
The beauteous listeners,
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Tranquil in the twilight dense
By the spreading branches made,
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Since shade relents, since 'tis indeed the day,
Since hope I long had deemed forever flown,
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Before your light quite fail,
Already paling star,
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O'er the wood's brow,
Pale, the moon stares;
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The scene behind the carriage window-panes
Goes flitting past in furious flight; whole plains
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The rosy hearth, the lamplight's narrow beam,
The meditation that is rather dream,
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The keyboard, over which two slim hands float,
Shines vaguely in the twilight pink and gray,
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Oh, heavy, heavy my despair,
Because, because of One so fair.
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The trees' reflection in the misty stream
Dies off in livid steam;
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You were not over-patient with me, dear;
This want of patience one must rightly rate:
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See, blossoms, branches, fruit, leaves I have brought,
And then my heart that for you only sighs;
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Let's dance the jig!
Above all else I loved her eyes,
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What sayst thou, traveller, of all thou saw'st afar?
On every tree hangs boredom, ripening to its fall,
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The false fair days have flamed the livelong day,
And still they flicker in the brazen West.
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Give ear unto the gentle lay
That's only sad that it may please;
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I've seen again the One child: verily,
I felt the last wound open in my breast,
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Hope shines--as in a stable a wisp of straw.
Fear not the wasp drunk with his crazy flight!
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Sleep, darksome, deep,
Doth on me fall:
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It is you, it is you, poor better thoughts!
The needful hope, shame for the ancient blots,
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'Tis the feast of corn, 'tis the feast of bread,
On the dear scene returned to, witnessed again!
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Remembrance, what wilt thou with me? The year
Declined; in the still air the thrush piped clear,
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Oft do I dream this strange and penetrating dream:
An unknown woman, whom I love, who loves me well,
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To you these lines for the consoling grace
Of your great eyes wherein a soft dream shines,
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Un grand sommeil noir
Tombe sur ma vie:
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"Son, thou must love me! See" my Saviour said,
"My heart that glows and bleeds, my wounded side,
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"The abbe rambles."--"You, marquis,
Have put your wig on all awry."--
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An ancient terra-cotta Faun,
A laughing note in 'mid the green,
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