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From A Harvest
Is the day wearing toward the west? —
Far off cool shadows pass,
A visible refreshment
Across the sultry grass;
Far off low mists are mustering,
A broken shifting mass.
Still in the deepest knowledge
Some depth is left unknown;
Still in the merriest music lurks
A plaintive undertone:
Still with the closest friend some throb
Of life is felt alone.
moonless morning sky
tireless October stars
await the first frost
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I know that Christina Rossetti is posted frequently on this blog, but I think this is the best selection of her work to date.
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Me too.
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If you’re looking for comments, I prefer the first version.
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‘Tis here again. The onset, of the beauty, of the dying. Where did the summer go? This life really is but a moment.
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denuded corn fields
now only full of stubble
empty, open hands
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corn denuded fields
filled now only with stubble
empty, open hands
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