The Secret Splendour

  Poems


O take from me

That wizard-wail

Out of dense greenery—

The nightingale!

 

Blinded am I,

For this dark tune

 Robs from the dream of sky

 The quiet moon.

 

No silver wind

Blows heaven-fresh—

But, gropingly, the mind

Falls deep through flesh.

 

2.8.36

 


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