As the world's overcomer
And life's comforter
Do you, tranquil spirit, reside
In who's trod evening?
Path pool's, frog-leapt? Or deep - in - wood's
Pathless; fawn-leaving?
Each drip, drip but him upon
Night's tired pounding one
Conveys, nay, as such does confide
Deftly, dab leaf-splashed
To what of it, there along, heals
A crowded rain has trashed!
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