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− | Aldania.
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− | Shall I attempt the Italian skies to paint a deeper blue?
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− | And deck the fields of Arcady In more resplendent hue?
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− | Or teach the nightingale to sing more rapturous a refrain?
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− | And tune the angels' harps in heaven to some more ravishing strain?
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− | Shall I still prettier modesty the dainty violet loan?
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− | Enrich the balms of Araby To charms beyond their own?
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− | Or to the Sun a candle hold, To show its peerless light?
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− | Encrust the stars with diamonds, That they appear more bright?
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− | Oh! vainest of all vanities,
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− | Such idle thoughts to raise!
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− | Yet vainer still it is for me To sing my Lady's praise.
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− | C.
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− | Autumn Leaves.
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− | Like waiting brides in their wedding robes,
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− | The leaves are whispering to each other wonderingly.
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− | When the next sun dawns
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− | They are gone.
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− | And with quick rustling steps
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− | And ceaseless whisperings,
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− | They hurry onwards after the flying wind.
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− | They wander along the rainy roads
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− | ..........And the heavy wheels
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− | pass over them.
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− | J.A.W.
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− | O Touch us Not.
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− | O touch us not, Eternal Magdalen!
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− | The whole world fades away when your pale face
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− | Yearns out to us, the Saviours of Men.
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− | Yea, all our luminous dreams are faded then,
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− | And we hold shadows strained in our embrace.
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− | O touch us not, Eternal Magdalen!
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− | No more we preach on Mountains, or have ken
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− | Of aught to speak of. Yea, we are grown base,
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− | We, who would fain be Saviours of Men.
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− | Hold back your hands, and come not near us when
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− | We agonise in this dim Garden Place.
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− | O touch us not, Eternal Magdalen,
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− | For we would be the Saviours of Men.
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− | L.H.
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− | BC Archives, MS-2570 Box 1 File 6 / MIST, Henry Masterman / Ruhleben magazine, Prisoners’ Pie, 1916.
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