xxix.

Overcast, glorious

the cloud-clad

grace

 

Full-mooned that

Christ-massed

day

 

In all its

sweep and sway

The damselled

drips from

that starstruck

abyss

 

O’ weary day,

on night’s bosom,

head is lain

Now night a stolen

kiss from cheek

not lips

 

And bestow, upon

unknowing forehead,

slow each roaring

thought

 

As all solstice

is draped in dream,

as silence

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