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| Of that long cloud-bar in the West,
Here is no startle of dreaming bird
Here is no sough of branches stirred,
Such as one hears by night on shore;
With fickle intervals between,
So they trembled to life, and, doubt- | Soft as the dews that fell that night, She said, "Auf wiedersehen!"
Feeling their way to my sense, sang,
They sit all day by the greenwood tree, The lover and loved, as it wont to be,
But grief conquered,
and all together They swelled such weird murmur as
haunts a shore
Of some planet dispeopled,
If earth another grave must bear,
Yet heaven hath won a sweeter strain, And something whispers my despair, That, from an orient chamber there, Floats down, "We meet again!"