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The
Book of the Native
by
Charles G.D. Roberts
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Love's
Translator
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When
the white moon divides the mist,
My longing eyes believe
’Tis the white arm my lips have kissed
Flashing from thy sleeve.
And when the tall white lily sways
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5 |
Upon
her queenly stalk,
Thy white form fills my dreaming gaze
Down the garden walk.
When, rich with rose, a wandering air
Breathes up the leafy
place,
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10 |
It seems
to me thy perfumed hair
Blown across my face.
And when the thrush’s golden note
Across the gloom is heard,
I think ’tis thy impassioned throat
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15 |
| Uttering
one sweet word.
And when the scarlet poppy-bud
Breaks, breathing of the
south,
A sudden warmth awakes my blood
Thinking of thy mouth.
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20 |
And when that dove’s wing dips in flight
Above the dreaming land,
I see some dear, remembered, white
Gesture of thy hand.
Wonder and love upon me wait
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25 |
In
service fair, when I
Into thy sweetness thus translate
Earth and air and sky. |
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