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KNOW a pool where nightshade preens Her poisonous fruitage in the moon; Where the frail aspen her shadow leans In midnight cold a-swoon.

I know a meadow flat with gold— A million million burning flowers In noon-sun's thirst their buds unfold Beneath his blazing showers.

I saw a crazed face, did I, Stare from the lattice of a mill, While the lank sails clacked idly by High on the windy hill.