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"THE SUN IS WARM, THE SKY IS CLEAR."- Page 127.

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!

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Soul in secret hour

Waking or asleep,

Thou of death must deem Things more true and deep

Than we mortals dream,

With music sweet as love, which overflows Or how could thy notes flow in such a

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Scattering unbeholden

Its aerial hue

crystal stream?

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With some pain is fraught;

Among the flowers and grass, which screen Our sweetest songs are those that tell of

it from the view;

Like a rose embowered

In its own green leaves,

By warm winds deflowered,

Till the scent it gives

saddest thought.

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Not to shed a tear,

Makes faint with too much sweet these I know not how thy joy we ever should

heavy-winged thieves.

Sound of vernal showers

On the twinkling grass,

Rain-awakened flowers,

All that ever was

come near.

Better than all measures

Of delightful sound,

Better than all treasures That in books are found,

Joyous and clear and fresh thy music Thy skill to poet were, thou scorner of

doth surpass.

Teach us, sprite or bird,

What sweet thoughts are thine!

I have never heard

Praise of love or wine

the ground!

Teach me half the gladness

That thy brain must know Such harmonious madness From my lips would flow,

That panted forth a flood of rapture so The world should listen then, as I am

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From hurry to and fro. Soon, up aloft, The silver, snarling trumpets 'gan to chide;

The level chambers, ready with their pride,

Were glowing to receive a thousand guests;

The carved angels, ever eager-eyed, Stared, where upon their heads the cornice rests,

With hair blown back, and wings put crosswise on their breasts.

At length burst in the argent revelry, With plume, tiara, and all rich array, Numerous as shadows haunting fairily The brain, new stuffed in youth with triumphs gay

Of old romance.

away,

These let us wish

And turn, sole-thoughted, to one lady there,

Whose heart had brooded, all that wintry day,

On love, and winged Saint Agnes' saint

ly care,

As she had heard old dames full many times declare.

They told her how, upon Saint Agnes' Eve,

Young virgins might have visions of delight,

And soft adorings from their loves receive

Upon the honeyed middle of the night,
If ceremonies due they did aright;
As, supperless to bed they must re-
tire,

And couch supine their beauties, lily white;

Nor look behind, nor sideways, but require

Of Heaven with upward eyes for all that they desire.

Full of this whim was thoughtful Madeline:

The music, yearning like a god in pain, She scarcely heard; her maiden eyes

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