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TOO far away, oh love, I know, | |
To save me from this haunted road, | |
Whose lofty roses break and blow | |
On a night-sky bent with a load | |
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Of lights: each solitary rose, | 5 |
Each arc-lamp golden does expose | |
Ghost beyond ghost of a blossom, shows | |
Night blenched with a thousand snows. | |
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Of hawthorn and of lilac trees, | |
White lilac; shows discoloured night | 10 |
Dripping with all the golden lees | |
Laburnum gives back to light. | |
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And shows the red of hawthorn set | |
On high to the purple heaven of night, | |
Like flags in blenched blood newly wet, | 15 |
Blood shed in the noiseless fight. | |
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Of life for love and love for life, | |
Of hunger for a little food, | |
Of kissing, lost for want of a wife | |
Long ago, long ago wooed. . . . . . . | 20 |
Too far away you are, my love, | |
To steady my brain in this phantom show | |
That passes the nightly road above | |
And returns again below. | |
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The enormous cliff of horse-chestnut trees | 25 |
Has poised on each of its ledges | |
An erect small girl looking down at me; | |
White-night-gowned little chits I see, | |
And they peep at me over the edges | |
Of the leaves as though they would leap, should I call | 30 |
Them down to my arms; | |
But, child, youre too small for me, too small | |
Your little charms. | |
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White little sheaves of night-gowned maids, | |
Some other will thresh you out! | 35 |
And I see leaning from the shades | |
A lilac like a lady there, who braids | |
Her white mantilla about | |
Her face, and forward leans to catch the sight | |
Of a mans face, | 40 |
Gracefully sighing through the white | |
Flowery mantilla of lace. | |
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And another lilac in purple veiled | |
Discreetly, all recklessly calls | |
In a low, shocking perfume, to know who has hailed | 45 |
Her forth from the night: my strength has failed | |
In her voice, my weak heart falls: | |
Oh, and see the laburnum shimmering | |
Her draperies down, | |
As if she would slip the gold, and glimmering | 50 |
White, stand naked of gown. . . . . . . | |
The pageant of flowery trees above | |
The street pale-passionate goes, | |
And back again down the pavement, Love | |
In a lesser pageant flows. | 55 |
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Two and two are the folk that walk, | |
They pass in a half embrace | |
Of linkèd bodies, and they talk | |
With dark face leaning to face. | |
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Come then, my love, come as you will | 60 |
Along this haunted road, | |
Be whom you will, my darling, I shall | |
Keep with you the troth I trowed. | |
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