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221

SONNET IX
SADNESS

That is what saddens this strange spirit of mine.
Thou wast so far, so many leagues, from me
While I was singing love-songs to the sea
In England, and the English green-browed line
Of rain-swept hills, and English eglantine:—
My songs mixed voices with each summer tree
And with the summer flowers—but not for thee
I sang. The stars that watched thee made no sign.
How could I guess that over leagues of sea
A girl's soft whisper mingled with the night,—
A girl's soft eyes with the far starry light
That fell on plains that mocked eternity
In their smooth endless undulating flight?
Thou wast alive,—and I knew not of thee!