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Moonrise

H. D.

1915

Will you glimmer on the sea?

Will you fling your spear-head

On the shore?

What note shall we pitch?

 

We have a song,

On the bank we share our arrows-

The loosed string tells our note:

 

O flight,

Bring her swiftly to our song.

She is great,

We measure her by the pine-trees.

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