The Eighth Sin/Song

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For works with similar titles, see Song.


O cherry-tree, let slip your petals bright
A whirling flight
Of April snow,
O let them eddy in the windy height
Then drift upon the grass below.

O cool blue harbours of twilight
Unmoor your galleons white
And trim their spars
Come plunging through the purple night
The great armada of the stars.