Page:On a grey thread (IA ongreythread00gidl).pdf/56

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Late Autumn Afternoon

Grey, fingered with flickering threads
   of light;
Silence broken by restless quavers
   of music.
Greyness, music,
A playing thought of slumber.
And on my lips faintly disturbing fingers,
And at my heart love's hand like a
   child's hand
Stirring me half awake.

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