POEMS
Wander and wheel above the pines, or tell
Each tiny dew-drop dripping from the bluebell's brimming cell.
And far away across the lengthening wold,
Across the willowy flats and thickets brown,
Magdalen's tall tower tipped with tremulous gold
Marks the long High Street of the little town,
And warns me to return; I must not wait,
Hark! 't is the curfew booming from the bell at Christ Church gate.
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