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Sanctuary
Sunshine House Sonnets
by
Bliss Carman
Illustrations
by Whitman Bailey
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THE
FLUTE OF GOLD
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Just
on the verge of summer, when the air
Of our warm May is redolent with bloom
Of honeysuckle and flaunting peonies
And the white pear tree shedding spicy balm,
With the first heat there falls a waiting hush,— |
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A
faint sweet stillness, as if Nature swooned
At the on-coming of her own desire,
With sense of things too lovely to be borne.
For the blue door of Heaven is left ajar,
And all the dreamful ardor of the spring
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Is spent for rapture in a moment now.
And where the dogwood spreads its drifts like snow
Among the greenery of the forest dim,
The first swamp-robin tries his flute of gold.
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