Into a country of wondrous things,
Enter we dreaming, and know we’re kings.
Murmur or roar as it may, the stream
Laughs to the youngster who dreams his dream.
Leave him alone till his fool’s heart breaks:
Dreams all are real till the dreamer wakes!
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Where all thecolours are low in pitch –Deep purples, emeralds deep and rich,Where autumn’s flaming and summer’s green –Here is a beauty you have not seen.All is pitched in a higher key,Lilac, topaz, and ivory,Palest jade-green and pale clear blueLike aquamarines that the sun shines through,Golds and silvers, we have at will –Silver and gold…
WHEN the tall bamboos are clicking to the restless little breeze,
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From my window I can see,
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The almond bloom is overpast, the apple blossoms blow.
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Since it befell, with work and strife
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