Page:Maud, and other poems.djvu/44

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arises stormy and pale, No sun, but a wannish glare In fold upon fold of hueless cloud, And the budded peaks of the wood are bow'd Caught and cuff'd by the gale: I had fancied it would be fair.

Whom but Maud should I meet Last night, when the sunset burn'd On the blossom'd gable-ends At the head of the village street,