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THE quivering ripples all dancing now,
Tossing each other the glow,
A hundred lights on the lowest bough
Flickering to and fro,
A humming murmur of tree and stream,
And the voices of wild birds glad,
And I lie lost in a languid dream,
Too happy not to be sad.
A happy dream of a sweet spring hour
In the arch of an avenue
Where the chestnuts are dropping a snowy shower
And the sunbeam lies on the dew,
And a voice is answering very low,
In mine a timid hand lies,
And a tangle of golden hair aglow
Droops shadows on downcast eyes.
And I should be conning a learned book,
(Study makes a man grow wise),
But I lie tranced by the spell of the brook,
Lulled into sweet reveries,
Lost in a dream of a leafy aisle
And two lovers whispering there,
Lost in a dream of a sunny smile
And the glitter of golden hair.
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