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 Only the little streamlet flows Beneath the hemlocks, beneath the moon; Hearing nothing as it goes, Save its own enchanted tune.

And silent, silent, on moss and stone. Sleeps the whole world's bitter wrong; While the shadow of love, lying alone, Listens to the streamlet's song.



LONE again! And the silence flows Round the windows of this place. The night is starless and heavy and close, Rain-scented like a drooping rose; And on the night floats your face.

It does not smile, it does not frown. It does not laugh, it does not weep; It only rocks itself up and down. Floating, as if on the waves of sleep.

Like a drooping rose is your dreamy face With the starless night about it furled; And infinite silence fills the place. And there is nothing else in the world.