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To spring belongs the violet, and the blown / Spice of the roses let the summer own. …
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Close on the edge of a midsummer dawn / In troubled dreams I went from land to land, …
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The Rain has ceased, and in my room / The sunshine pours an airy flood; …
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I / not with slow, funereal sound …
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To the sea-shell’s spiral round / ’T is your heart that brings the sound: …
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I. / have you not heard the poets tell …
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“A note / All out of tune in this world’s instrument.” …
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The folk who lived in Shakespeare’s day / And saw that gentle figure pass …
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A soldier of the Cromwell stamp, / With sword and psalm-book by his side, …
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Somewhere—in desolate wind-swept space— / In Twilight-land—in No-man’s-land— …
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Beneath the warrior’s helm, behold / The flowing tresses of the woman! …
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I Leave behind me the elm-shadowed square / And carven portals of the silent street, …
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Good-night! i have to say good-night / To such a host of peerless things! …
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(Spanish Air) / GOOD-NIGHT! I have to say good-night …
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The new moon hung in the sky, / The sun was low in the west, …
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That face which no man ever saw / And from his memory banished quite, …
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Shakespeare and Milton—what third blazoned name / Shall lips of after-ages link to these? …
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I say it under the rose— / Oh, thanks!—yes, under the laurel, …
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Though gifts like thine the fates gave not to me, / One thing, O Hafiz, we both hold in fee— …
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Wide open and unguarded stand our gates, / Named of the four winds, North, South, East, and West; …
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when the Sultan Shah-Zaman / Goes to the city Ispahan, …