THE SILVER WAY
Your welcome to day. . . .
I am the wind.
I am the wind.
IV.
The loud golden sunlight
Touches your hand in the shadowed gloom,
Wakes it to rosy splendor. . . .
It draws you slowly to the open window,
And makes your lips a scented flame. . . .
I am the sunlight.
The loud golden sunlight
Touches your hand in the shadowed gloom,
Wakes it to rosy splendor. . . .
It draws you slowly to the open window,
And makes your lips a scented flame. . . .
I am the sunlight.
V.
The dew-dusted rose
Powders its living perfume on you;
You yield yourself to its clasp. . . .
I am the rose.
The dew-dusted rose
Powders its living perfume on you;
You yield yourself to its clasp. . . .
I am the rose.
VI.
At the blank midnight,
Under the restless seas of heaven,
Where dim flotillas pitch,
With golden-lanterned prows
And crimson stars at their sterns,
A quiet moonbeam presses its silvery way
To where you breathe and sleep. . . .
I am the moonbeam.
At the blank midnight,
Under the restless seas of heaven,
Where dim flotillas pitch,
With golden-lanterned prows
And crimson stars at their sterns,
A quiet moonbeam presses its silvery way
To where you breathe and sleep. . . .
I am the moonbeam.
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