How gently rock yon poplars high Against the reach of primrose sky With heaven's pale candles stored.
There's no dew left on the daisies and clover; there's no rain left in heaven.
O sleep, we are beholden to thee, sleep; Thou bearest angels to us in the night, Saints out of heaven with palms. Seen by thy light Sorrow is some old tale that goeth not deep; Love is a pouting child.
You moon, have you done something wrong in heaven / That God has hidden your face?
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