Myth and Romance - Being a Book of Verses by Madison Julius Cawein
page 15 of 119 (12%)
page 15 of 119 (12%)
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Around whose wheel the breeze
And shimmering ripples of the water play, As, by their mother, little children may. II Sweet spirit of the moon, who walkest,--lifting Exhaustless on thy arm, A pearly vase of fire,--through the shifting Cloud-halls of calm and storm, Pour down thy blossoms! let me hear them come, Pelting with noiseless light the twinkling thickets, Making the darkness audible with the hum Of many insect creatures, grigs and crickets: Until it seems the elves hold revelries By haunted stream and grove; Or, in the night's deep peace, The young-old presence of Earth's full increase Seems telling thee her love, Ere, lying down, she turns to rest, and smiles, Hearing thy heart beat through the myriad miles. _The Old Water-Mill_ |
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