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The Poetical Works of George MacDonald

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The flush of green that dyed the day

Hath vanished in the moon;

Flower-scents float stronger out, and play

An unborn, coming tune.

One southern eve like this, the dew

Had cooled and left the ground;

The moon hung half-way from the blue,

No disc, but conglobed round;

Light-leaved acacias, by the door,

Bathed in the balmy air,

Clusters of blossomed moonlight bore,

And breathed a perfume rare;

Great gold-flakes from the starry sky

Fell flashing on the deep:

One scent of moist earth floating by,

Almost it made me weep.

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