When insect wings are glistening in the beam
Of the low sun, and mountain-tops are bright,
Oh, let me, by the crystal valley-stream,
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Can poetry be written that is better than this? This particular piece melted me into a rainbow puddle of awe- - - -
- - - - - - - - - Yet, loveliest are thy setting smiles, and fair,
Fairest of all that earth beholds, the hues
That live among the clouds, and flush the air,
Lingering and deepening at the hour of dews.
Then softest gales are breathed, and softest heard
The plaining voice of streams, and pensive note of bird.
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Can poetry be written that is better than this? This particular piece melted me into a rainbow puddle of awe- - - - - - - - - - - - - Yet, loveliest are thy setting smiles, and fair, Fairest of all that earth beholds, the hues That live among the clouds, and flush the air, Lingering and deepening at the hour of dews. Then softest gales are breathed, and softest heard The plaining voice of streams, and pensive note of bird.