  The tender Sorrows of the twilight leave me, And shall I want the fanning of smooth wings? Shall I not miss sweet sorrows? Will it grieve me To hear no cooing from soft dove-like things? Let Evening hear them! O wide Dawn uprisen, Know me all thine; and ye, whose level flight Has pierced the drear hours and the cloudy prison, Cry for the pathless spaces and the light! |
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