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- THE WITHERING OF THE BOUGHS
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- I CRIED when the moon was mutmuring to the birds:
- "Let peewit call and curlew cry where they will,
- I long for your merry and tender and pitiful words,
- For the roads are unending, and there is no place to my mind."
- The honey-pale moon lay low on the sleepy hill,
- And I fell asleep upon lonely Echtge of streams.
- i{No boughs have withered because of the wintry wind;}
- i{The boughs have withered because I have told them my, dreams.}
- I know of the leafy paths that the witches take
- Who come with their crowns of pearl and their spindles of wool,
- And their secret smile, out of the depths of the lake;
- I know where a dim moon drifts, where the Danaan kind
- Wind and unwind their dances when the light grows cool
- On the island lawns, their feet where the pale foam gleams.
- i{No boughs have withered because of the wintry wind;}
- i{The boughs have withered because I have told them my dreams.}
- I know of the sleepy country, where swans fly round
- Coupled with golden chains, and sing as they fly.
- A king and a queen are wandering there, and the sound
- Has made them so happy and hopeless, so deaf and so blind
- With wisdom, they wander till all the years have gone by;
- I know, and the curlew and peewit on Echtge of streams.
- i{No boughs have withered because of the wintry wind;}
- i{The boughs have withered because I have told them my dreams.}
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