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From
the Book of Valentines
by
Bliss Carman
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MORNING
AND EVENING
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When
the morning wind comes up the mountain,
Stirring all the beech-groves of the valley,
And, before the paling stars have vanished,
The first tawny thrush disturbs the twilight
With his reed-pipe, eerie calm and golden— |
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The
earth-music marvellous and olden—
Then
good fortune enters at my doorway,
And my heart receives the guest called Gladness;
For I know it is that day of summer
When I shall behold your face ere nightfall,
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And
this earth, as never yet in story,
Ledge to hill-crest dyed in purple glory.
When
the evening breath draws down the valley,
And the clove is full of dark blue shadows
Moving on the mountain-wall, just silvered
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By the
large moon lifted o'er the earth-rim,
At the moment of transported being,
When soul gathers what the eyes are seeing,
Sense is parted like a melted rain-mist,
And our mortal spirits run together,
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Saying,
"O incomparable comrade!"
Saying, "O my lover, how good love is!"
Then the twilight falls; the hill-wind hushes;
Note by note once more the cool-voiced thrushes. |
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