Flight
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oices out of the shade that cried,And long noon in the hot calm places,And children's play by the wayside,And country eyes, and quiet faces --All these were round my steady paces. Those that I could have loved went by me;Cool gardened homes slept in the sun;I heard the whisper of water nigh me,Saw hands that beckoned, shone, were goneIn the green and gold. And I went on. For if my echoing footfall slept,Soon a far whispering there'd beOf a little lonely wind that creptFrom tree to tree, and distantlyFollowed me, followed me. . . . But the blue vaporous end of dayBrought peace, and pursuit baffled quite,Where between pine-woods dipped the way.I turned, slipped in and out of sight.I trod as quiet as the night. The pine-boles kept perpetual hush;And in the boughs wind never swirled.I found a flowering lowly bush,And bowed, slid in, and sighed and curled,Hidden at rest from all the world. Safe! I was safe, and glad, I knew!Yet -- with cold heart and cold wet browsI lay. And the dark fell. . . . There grewMeward a sound of shaken boughs;And ceased, above my intricate house; And silence, silence, silence found me. . . .I felt the unfaltering movement creepAmong the leaves. They shed around meCalm clouds of scent, that I did weep;And stroked my face. I fell asleep.
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