But why for my shimmering body
Have I a mother like Pain?
Night is the mother of stars,
And wind the mother of foam—
The world is brimming with beauty,
But I must stay at home.
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Your lines that linger for us down the years,
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I WATCH the great clear twilight
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Impassioned singer of the happy time.
And dew still glistened on the tangled thorn,And lingered on the branches of the lime —Oh peerless singer of the golden rhyme,Happy wert thou to live ere doubt was born —Before the joy of life was half out-worn,And nymphs and satyrs vanished from your clime.Then maidens bearing parsley in their handsWound thro’ the groves to…