Youth now flees on feathered foot
Faint and fainter sounds the flute,
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I will make you brooches and toys for your delight
Of bird-song at morning and star-shine at night.
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I WILL make you brooches and toys for your delight
Of bird-song at morning and star-shine at night.
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WHEN Thomas set this tablet here, Time laughed at the vain chanticleer;
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THEY tell me, lady, that to-day On that unknown Australian strand -
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IN Schnee der Alpen - so it runs To those divine accords - and here
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THE cock's clear voice into the clearer air Where westward far I roam,
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THOUGH deep indifference should drowse The sluggish life beneath my brows,
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WHAT is the face, the fairest face, till Care, Till Care the graver - Care with cunning hand,
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YOU have been far, and I Been farther yet,
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NOT thine where marble-still and white Old statues share the tempered light
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To the heart of youth the world is a highwayside.
Passing for ever, he fares; and on either hand,
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Trusty, dusky, vivid, true,
With eyes of gold and bramble-dew,
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WOULDST thou be free? I think it not, indeed; But if thou wouldst, attend this simple rede:
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So shall this book wax like unto a well,
Fairy with mirrored flowers about the brim,
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THE wind may blaw the lee-gang way And aye the lift be mirk an' gray,
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WHEN my young lady has grown great and staid, And in long raiment wondrously arrayed,
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WITH caws and chirrupings, the woods In this thin sun rejoice.
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YOU, Charidemus, who my cradle swung, And watched me all the days that I was young;
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COME to me, all ye that labour; I will give your spirits rest; Here apart in starry quiet I will give you rest.
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MEN are Heaven's piers; they evermore Unwearying bear the skyey floor;
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YOU looked so tempting in the pew, You looked so sly and calm -
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I AM like one that for long days had sate, With seaward eyes set keen against the gale,
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O DULL cold northern sky, O brawling sabbath bells,
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STOUT marches lead to certain ends, We seek no Holy Grail, my friends -
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OUR Johnie's deid. The mair's the pity! He's deid, an' deid o' Aqua-vitae.
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HAIL, guest, and enter freely! All you see Is, for your momentary visit, yours; and we
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BEYOND the gates thou gav'st a field to till; I have a larger on my window-sill.
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LOUD and low in the chimney The squalls suspire;
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IF I have faltered more or less
In my great task of happiness;
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