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I thought that it was fancy, and I listened in my bed, And then did something speak to me - I know not what was said;
For great delight and shuddering took hold of all my mind,
And up the valley came again the music on the wind.
But you were sleeping; and I said, "It's not for them: it's mine."
And if it comes three times, I thought, I take it for a sign.
And once again it came, and close beside the windowbars,
Then seemed to go right up to Heaven and die among
So now I think my time is near. I trust it is. I know The blessed music went that way my soul will have to go.
And for myself, indeed, I care not if I go to-day,
And say to Robin a kind word, and tell him not to fret; There's many worthier than I would make him happy yet.
If I had lived—I cannot tell — I might have been his
But all these things have ceased to be, with my desire of life.
O look! the sun begins to rise, the heavens are in a glow;
He shines upon a hundred fields, and all of them I know. And there I move no longer now, and there his light may shine.
Wild flowers in the valley for other hands than mine.
O sweet and strange it seems to me, that ere this day is done
The voice that now is speaking may be beyond the sun-
Forever and forever, all in a blessed home
And there to wait a little while till you and Effie
To lie within the light of God, as I lie upon your
And the wicked cease from troubling, and the weary
are at rest.
"COURAGE!" he said, and pointed toward the land; "This mounting wave will roll us shoreward soon." In the afternoon they came unto a land,
In which it seemed always afternoon.
A land of streams! some, like a downward smoke, Slow-dropping veils of thinnest lawn, did go;
And some through wavering lights and shadows broke, Rolling a slumbrous sheet of foam below.
They saw the gleaming river seaward flow
Three silent pinnacles of aged snow,
Stood sunset-flushed: and, dewed with showery drops, Up-clomb the shadowy pine above the woven copse.
The charmed sunset lingered low adown
In the red West: through mountain clefts the dale
A land where all things always seemed the same!
The mild-eyed melancholy Lotos-eaters came.
Branches they bore of that enchanted stem,