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Songs
of the Common Day, and Ave!
An
Ode for the Shelley Centenary
by
Charles G.D. Roberts
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MOONLIGHT
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THE
fifers of these amethystine fields,
Whose far fine sound
the night makes musical,
Now while thou wak'st
and longing would'st recall
Joys that no rapture of remembrance yields,
Voice to thy soul, lone-sitting deep within
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The still recesses
of thine ecstasy,
My love and my desire,
that fain would fly
With this far-silvering moon and fold thee in.
But
not for us the touch, the clasp, the kiss,
And for our restlessness
no rest. In vain |
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These
aching lips, these hungering hearts that strain
Toward the denied fruition of our bliss,
Had love not learned
of longing to devise
Out of desire and
dream our paradise. |
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