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Low mourned the Oread round the Arcadian hills;
How good some years of life may be!
"And there shall be no night there and they
"What traveller soever wander here
Dry light reverberates, colour withdrawing
Dirge the sorrows by time made dim:
Long is it since they ceased to look on light,
Though here fair blooms the rose and the woodbine waves on high,
You who know what easeful arms
Life with the sun in it -
Once as the aureole
My love's unchanged - though time, alas!
A gurly breeze swept from the pool
When Grief comes this way by
Despairless! Hopeless! Quietly I wait
"Despairless? Hopeless? Join the cheerful hunt
Hopeless! Despairless! like that Indian wise
He comes to me like air on parching grass;
She scanned the record of Beethoven's thought,
By mead and marsh and sandhill clad with bent,
The Love that speaks in word and kiss,
What though my voice cease like a moan o' the wind?
Critic John cam here to view