a. t. quiller-couch quotes

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What was he doing, the great god Pan,
Down in the reeds by the river?
Here a little child I stand,
Heaving up my either hand;
For a Benizon to fall
On our meat, and on us all.
Here a pretty Baby lies
Sung asleep with Lullabies:
Pray be silent, and not stirre
Th' easie earth that covers her.
The red rose whispers of passion,
And the white rose breathes of love;
For the love that is purest and sweetest
Has a kiss of desire on the lips.
Mine be a cot beside the hill;
A bee-hive's hum shall soothe my ear;
Let thy young wanderer dream on:
Call him not home.
Dreams pursue death as winds a flying fire,
Our dreams pursue our dead and do not find.
Shall I, wasting in despair,
Die because a woman's fair?
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