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THE WANDERER AND THE NIGHT-FLOWERS.
Call back your odours, lovely flowers,
From the night-winds call them back,
And fold your leaves till the laughing hours
Come forth in the sunbeam's track.
The lark lies couched in her grassy nest,
And the honey bee is gone,
And all bright things are away to rest,
Why watch ye here alone?
Is not your world a mournful one,
When your sisters close their eyes,
And your soft breath meets not a lingering tone
Of song in the starry skies?
