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13

TO NORMAN GALE

[_]

(With that portion of “A Fellowship in Song” entitled “From Midland Meadows.”)

Friend, whom I met in fruitful days
Rambling amid sequestered ways
Of rustic song,
These flowers, in midland meadows grown
While yet I walked and mused alone,
Pleased to be laid beside thine own,
To thee belong.
We both have worshipped the pure rest
Of Arden's gently sloping breast,
With faith sincere;

14

The simple breadth of view, that fills
Our famished souls, the voice that stills,
The comfort of the lowly hills,
To both are dear.
Oft have we blest each woodland throat,
Have held our breath for some rare note
In secret brake;
Together watched the moon sail through
Mysterious seas of hoary blue,
Or stars mid billowy clouds pursue
Her amber wake;
Then, flushed with winter's honest kiss,
Have heard the yule-log snap and hiss,
While songs, unsung
By souls that glowed apart before,
Leapt from our spirits' molten ore,
As from the fire's refulgent core
Tongue leapt to tongue.

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Age will abate the lyric flame,
The grave's dull tooth consume our name;
But hap what may,
Friend, we have captured fugitive
Fine joys, whose music will outlive
All the discordant world can give
Or take away.