  I know a pool where nightshade preens Her poisonous fruitage in the moon; Where the frail aspen her shadow leans In midnight cold a-swoon. I know a meadow flat with gold— A million million burning flowers In noon-sun's thirst their buds unfold Beneath his blazing showers. I saw a crazÈd face, did I, Stare from the lattice of a mill, While the lank sails clacked idly by High on the windy hill.
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