  Sweet bird of twilight wake in me Bright memories of melody Outpoured from every nesting-tree At early morning gray. O sing that I may ponder on The songs away with noontide gone, Ere shadows troop across the lawn And voices die away. Long have I waited wistfully; And lest thy gift unheeded be, Lo, now my gardens are for thee, Thou truant all the day! Frank English. |
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