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I THERES no hiding here in the glare of the desert | |
If your coat is sham the sun shines through. | |
Here with the lonely things and the silence | |
There is no crowd for saving you. | |
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When hearts love here the love lasts longer, | 5 |
And hate leaves here a heavy scar. | |
But we, with the deserts beauty of distance, | |
Are always dreaming of places far! | |
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If you have come to start a kingdom | |
Our eyes have looked on Rome and Tyre! | 10 |
But if you come with dreams for baggage, | |
Sit with us by the cedar fire! | |
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II The sultry sudden darkness, | |
Like some black mantle thrown | |
From shoulders of a giant | 15 |
On children left alone, | |
Falls over us; and, stilled with fear, | |
In dark we see, in silence hear! | |
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Then rain!a sudden pounding | |
Of unformed maddened things, | 20 |
Pounding, splashingstubborn | |
As vultures heavy wings | |
That pound the air, too sure to hate, | |
In hunger, and move low, and wait! | |
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III Four old trees stand tall on a hill. | 25 |
Wind swirls around them, never still; | |
And their heads together bow and sway | |
As if in talk of a game they play. | |
Sometimes they laugh and sometimes sigh; | |
And there beneath a low gray sky | 30 |
Ive seen them drop their leaves when thins | |
The gold and crimson, as near dawn | |
Wise gamblers drop their cards upon | |
The table, saying kindly, Why | |
Quarrel with a game that no one wins! | 35 |
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IV The wood was so old that I thought | |
Id hear it saying its prayers | |
In the aisles like cloisters wrought; | |
But I came on it, unawares, | |
Chucklinglike old men mellow grown | 40 |
Talking of youth on a hill alone! | |
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V The birds love you too, | |
Calling, Sweet, sweet, sweet! | |
In the windy lane | |
Where the tree-tops meet. | 45 |
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But I love you best, | |
Since my lips let pass | |
No song lest I miss | |
Your steps on the grass. | |
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VI Ill go where willows quicken | 50 |
Their dances in the glow | |
Of morning, and the wild brooks | |
Make music down below; | |
For I am weary seeking | |
The things I may not know. | 55 |
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And I shall feel the silver | |
Of willow leaves, and hold | |
A drop of water winking | |
With rainbows yet unsold. | |
What more may all the world find | 60 |
Now all its dreams are old! | |
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