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The Golden Age by George William Russell
WHEN the morning breaks above us And the wild sweet stars have fled, By the faery hands that love us Wakened you and I will tread
Where the lilacs on the lawn Shine with all their silver dews, In the stillness of a dawn Wrapped in tender primrose hues.
We will hear the strange old song That the earth croons in her breast, Echoed by the feathered throng Joyous from each leafy nest.
Earth, whose dreams are we and they, With her heart’s deep gladness fills All our human lips can say, Or the dawn-fired singer trills.
She is rapt in dreams divine: As her clouds of beauty pass, On our glowing hearts they shine, Mirrored there as in a glass.
So when all the vapours grey From our flowery paths shall flit, And the dawn begin the day, We will sing that song to it
Ere its yellow fervour flies.— Oh, we are so glad of youth, Whose first sweetness never dies Nourished by eternal truth.
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