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the domed clouds the mountains bore, Where late the sun's effulgent fire had been -- Showing as darkness deepened more and more The incandescent lightnings flare within, And Night that furls the lily in the glen And twines impatient arms would fall, and then--and then . . . Sometimes the peasant, coming late from town With empty panniers on his little drove Past the old lookout when the Northern Crown Glittered with Cygnus through the scented grove, Would hear soft noise of lute-strings wafted down And voices singing through the leaves above Those songs that well from the warm heart that woos At balconies in Merida or Vera Cruz. And he would pause under the garden wall, Caught in the spell of that voluptuous strain, With all the sultry South in it, and all Its importunity of love and pain; And he would wait till the last passionate fall Died on the night, and all was still again, -- Then to his upland village wander home, Marvelling whence that flood of elfin song might come. O lyre that Love's white holy hands caress, Youth, from thy bosom welled their passionate lays -- Sweet opportunity for happiness So brief, so passing beautiful--O days, When to the heart's divine indulgences All earth in smiling ministration pays -- Thine was the source whose plenitude, past over, What prize shall rest to pluck, what secret to discover! The wake of color that follows her when May Walks on the hills loose-haired and daisy-crowned, The deep horizons of a summer's day, Fair cities, and the pleasures that abound Where music calls, and crowds in bright array Gather by night to find and to be found; What were these worth or all delightful things Without thine eyes to read their true interpretings! For thee the mountains open glorious gates, To thee white arms put out from orient skies, Earth, like a jewelled bride for one she waits, Decks but to be delicious in thine eyes, Thou guest of honor for one day, whose fetes Eternity has travailed to devise; Ah, grace them well in the brief hour they last! Another's turn prepares, another follows fast. Yet not without one fond memorial Let my sun set who found the world so fair! Frail verse, when Time the singer's coronal Has rent, and stripped the rose-leaves from his hair, Be thou my tablet on the temple wall! Among the pious testimonials there, Witness how sweetly on my heart as well The miracles of dawn and starry evening fell! Speak of one
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