freckles.。，And storm beneath the piping wind,
If it be unredeemed this night?。，To many it is but a sweep of land!
Whatever dim tradition tells,。，That dallies with dead leaves ev'n while the primrose peeps.
motion。，The springs which move in me such thoughts,
。，While in ebbing measures slow
Of sunset o'er the hills;。，
And circling round, as with a ring,。，To joy in me, or yearn towards me now!
The buried voice bespake Antigone.。，Down from the village; and now, even now, the air smells of the
To where thou floatest free.。，Cherish here, and water it with tears!
。，And now beneath the rising sun,
Their creamy bosoms glowing warm,。，Nought but bright prophetic laurel!
Even were a damsel by;。，
Lined with long trenches half-hidden, where smell of white meadow-。，Went swifter than the swallow's dart!
Summer glows warm on the meadows; then come, let us roam thro' them。，O Sister! soft as on the downward rill,
Conscious of love each change of light.。，The springs which move in me such thoughts,
The stars will watch the flowers asleep,。，Heralds the day 'tis my mission eternal to seal and to prophecy.
，A garden all unknown to blight;。，Come to me in any shape!