Sometimes she is a child within mine arms, Cowering beneath dark wings that love must chase,— With still tears showering and averted face, Inexplicably filled with faint alarms: And oft from mine own spirit`s hurtling harms I crave the refuge of her deep embrace,— Against all ills the fortified strong place And sweet reserve of sovereign counter-charms. And Love, our light at night and shade at noon, Lulls us to rest with songs, and turns away All shafts of shelterless tumultuous day. Like the moon`s growth, his face gleams through his tune; And as soft waters warble to the moon, Our answering spirits chime one roundelay.SourceThe script ran 0.001 seconds.
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