THE BROKEN TRYST
The dropping words of larks, the sweetest tongue
That sings between the dusks, tell all of you;
The bursting white of Peace is all along
Wing-ways, and pearly droppings of the dew
Emberyl the cobwebs' greyness, and the blue
Of hiding violets, watching for your face,
Listen for you in every dusky place.
You will not answer when I call your name,
But in the fog of blossom do you hide
To change my doubts into a red-faced shame
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