The Spring
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ydonian spring with her attendant train,Maelids and water-girls,Stepping beneath a boisterous wind from Thrace,Throughout this sylvan placeSpreads the bright tips,And every vine-stock isClad in new brilliancies.And wild desireFalls like black lightning.O bewildered heart,Though every branch have back what last year lost,She, who moved here amid the cyclamen,Moves only now a clinging tenuous ghost.
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