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92 With the lost Pleiad; with the wars Of Agamemnon’s ancestors; With their own years of joy and grief, Spring’s bud, and autumn’s faded leaf; With birds that round their cradles flew; With winds that in their boyhood blew;
 * With last night’s dream and last night’s dew.

Yes, they are gone; alas! each one of them; Departed—every mother’s son of them. Yet often, at the close of day, When thoughts are winged and wandering, they Come with the memory of the past,
 * Like sunset clouds along the mind,

Reflecting, as they’re flitting fast In their wild hues of shade and light, All that was beautiful and bright
 * In golden moments left behind.