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202
V
Ah, now an end to thy inveterate tale!The silence melts from the mid spheres of heaven;
Enough! before this peace has time to fail
From out my soul, or yon white cloud has driven
Up the moon's path I turn, and I will rest
Once more with summer in my heart. Farewell!
Shut are the wild-rose cups; no moth's awhirr;
My room will be moon-silvered from the west
For one more hour; thy note shall be a burr
To tease out thought and catch the slumbrous spell.
Poems | ||