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 WITH caws and chirrupings, the woods
In this thin sun rejoice.
The Psalm seems but the little kirk That sings with its own voice.
The cloud-rifts share their amber light With the surface of the mere - I think the very stones are glad To feel each other near.
Once more my whole heart leaps and swells And gushes o'er with glee; The fingers of the sun and shade Touch music stops in me.
Now fancy paints that bygone day When you were here, my fair - The whole lake rang with rapid skates In the windless winter air.
You leaned to me, I leaned to you, Our course was smooth as flight - We steered - a heel-touch to the left, A heel-touch to the right.
We swung our way through flying men, Your hand lay fast in mine: We saw the shifting crowd dispart, The level ice-reach shine.
I swear by yon swan-travelled lake, By yon calm hill above, I swear had we been drowned that day We had been drowned in love.

by Robert Louis Stevenson
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