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AT DUSK
211
Sometime I may—for who can tell?—
Awake, no longer tired,
And see the fields of asphodel,
The dreamed-of, the desired,
And find the heights where He doth dwell,
To whom my heart aspired!
And then— But peace awaiteth me—
Thy peace: I feel it near;
The hush, the voiceless mystery,
The languor without fear!
Enfold me—close; I want but thee!
But thee, Earth-mother dear!
