A Love Song
Once, at morning, in the fall wood
my friend and I long silent stood,
amazed that any rainbow could
decree to part us, bitterly repining.
My friend, in aimless love and grief,
reached forth and sang aside a love song
that just above us played the love song
and stole our starlight that for us was unthinking.
A star that had remarked her love song
shone straightway down that loved lane,
and wrought his image, mirror-plain,
within a tear that on her lash hung gleaming.
"Thus time," I laugh, "is but a happy song
someone hath wept 'twixt hopes and fears,
yet in his little lucent sphere
our star of stars, happy alive song, is beaming."
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