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Now the shy wood-wonners steal
Nearer, bright-eyed furry things,
Winking owls on silent wings
Glance, and float away. The light
In the wake o' the storm takes flight,
Day departeth: night-'t is night.
The crown'd king musing at morn by a clear sweet river.
Palms on the slope o' the valley, and no winds blow;
Birds blameless,
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