What dew or what weeping, what tears were those that I saw scattered from night’s mantle and the pallid face of the stars? And why did the white moon sow a pure cloud of crystalline stars in the lap of the fresh grass? Why were the breezes heard swirling around in the dusky air, as if complaining, until daylight? Were they signs perhaps of your leaving, life of my very life?

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Tr. George R. Kay