The stars cleave the sky. Yet for us they rest, And their race-course high Is a shining nest! The hours hurry on. But where is thy flight, Soft pavilion Of motionless night? Earth gives up her trees To the holy air; They live in the breeze; They are saints at prayer! Summer night, come from God, On your beauty, I see, A still wave has flowed Of eternity!SourceThe script ran 0.001 seconds.
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