  LISTEN, I who love thee well Have travelled far, and secrets tell; Cold the moon that gleams thine eyes, Yet beneath her further skies Rests for thee, a paradise. I have plucked a flower in proof, Frail, in earthly light forsooth: See, invisible it lies In this palm: now veil thine eyes: Quaff its fragrancies. Would indeed my throat had skill To breathe thee music, faint and still— Music learned in dreaming deep In those lands, from Echo's lip ... 'Twould lull thy soul to sleep.
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