Of Course--I prayed
1.37 The Angle of a Landscape
Besides the Autumn poets sing
I'm saying every day
A precious—mouldering pleasure—’tis—
These are the days when Birds come back—
Through lane it lay--through bramble--
Dare you see a Soul at the White Heat?
The Gentian weaves her fringes--
Death sets a Thing significant
The morns are meeker than they were
After Great pain a formal feeling comes
The face I cary with me last--
A Bird came down the Walk—
Before I got my eye put out
I cannot dance upon my Toes—
Some keep the Sabbath going to Church
Of all the Sounds despatched abroad,
Unto like Story--Trouble has enticed me--
A shady friend—for Torrid days—
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