Bright Clouds
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RIGHT clouds of mayShade half the pond.Beyond,All but one bayOf emeraldTall reedsLike criss-cross bayonetsWhere a bird once called,Lies bright as the sun.No one heeds.The light wind fretsAnd drifts the scumOf may-blossom.Till the moorhen callsAgainNaught's to be doneBy birds or men.Still the may falls.
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