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Evening Songs
XXXVIII
Deep silence reigns—it seems to me
Sleep comes to mine eyes, resting,
As does a bird come to its mate
In their home softly nesting.
The night’s soft bed is ready made—
The heavens, with stars covered.
Maybe that some heart will forget
For what this day it suffered.
Maybe that some heart will forget,
And if it found no treasure,
Maybe it finds it in its dream
And with it finds its pleasure.
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