A Reed Shaken with the Wind by Madison Cawein

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I. Not for you and me the path / Winding through the shadowless / Fields of morning's dewiness! / Where the brook, that hurries, hath / Laughter lighter than a boy's; / Where recurrent odors poise, / Romp-like, with irreverent tresses, / In the sun; and birds and boughs / Build a music-haunted house / For the winds to hang their dresses, / Whisper-silken, rustling in.

Ours a path that led unto / Twilight regions gray with dew; / Where moon-vapors gathered thin / Over acres sisterless / Of all healthy beauty; where / Fungus growths made sad the air / With a phantom-like caress: / Under darkness and strange stars, / To the sorrow-silenced bars / Of a dubious forestland, / Where the wood-scents seemed to stand, / And the sounds, on either hand, / Clad like sleep's own servitors / In the shadowy livery / Of the ancient house of dreams; / That before us, -- fitfully, / With white intermittent gleams / Of its pale-lamped windows, -- shone; / Echoing with the dim unknown.

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