Page:Poems, chiefly lyrical.pdf/83

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SONG.

 

I.
Every day hath its night:
Every night its morn:
Thorough dark and bright
Wingéd hours are borne;
Ah! welaway!
Seasons flower and fade;
Golden calm and storm
Mingle day by day.
There is no bright form
Doth not cast a shade—
Ah! welaway!