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 Like constant tears. The winter came; But still the green tree stood the same. And it was said, at evening's close, A sound of whispered music rose; That 'twas the trace of viewless feet Made the flowers more than flowers sweet. At length died. That day, Bark and green foliage past away From the lone tree,—again a thing Of wonder and of perishing!

 

One evening I had roamed beside The winding of the Arno's tide; The sky was flooded with moonlight: Below were waters azure bright, 