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Beauty

Two lone glad doves are sighing on the roof,
Sending in mournful notes to the stars
A faint tremble of wailing joy; the wind
Is carolling too, - on his lute low - crying
An infinite gladness, echoing round
The walls …. Lie still, dear, and rest awhile,
Contentedly, our longing now appeased,
Till we fall, like dreaming snowflakes, far
Into the void of delightful sleep….
Like a gentle wind, I feel you breathing,

And a still joy murmuring, dovelike, through your blood
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