And, since the grasses round me wave, I take the grasses of the grave, And make them pipes whereon to blow. The
traveller hears me now and then,
Another
answers, ‘Let him be,
A
third is wroth: ‘Is this an hour
‘A
time to sicken and to swoon,
Behold,
ye speak an idle thing:
And
one is glad; her note is gay,
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