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- THE WHITE BIRDS
-
- I WOULD that we were, my beloved, white birds on the
- foam of the sea!
- We tire of the flame of the meteor, before it can fade
- and flee;
- And the flame of the blue star of twilight, hung low
- on the rim of the sky,
- Has awaked in our hearts, my beloved, a sadness that
- may not die.
- A weariness comes from those dreamers, dew-dabbled,
- the lily and rose;
- Ah, dream not of them, my beloved, the flame of the
- meteor that goes,
- Or the flame of the blue star that lingers hung low in
- the fall of the dew:
- For I would we were changed to white birds on the
- wandering foam: I and you!
- I am haunted by numberless islands, and many a
- Danaan shore,
- Where Time would surely forget us, and Sorrow come
- near us no more;
- Soon far from the rose and the lily and fret of the
- flames would we be,
- Were we only white birds, my beloved, buoyed out on
- the foam of the sea!
-