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WHERE Claribel low-lieth
Letting the rose-leaves fall : But the solemn oak-tree sigheth,
Of an inward agony,
When will the clouds be aweary of fleeting?
And nature die ?
The stream flows,
Nothing will die.
Nothing will die ;
Here and there,
Till the air And the ground Shal be fill'd with life anew.
NOTHING WILL DIE.
When will the stream be aweary of
Under my eye? When will the wind be aweary of blowing
Over the sky ?
The world was never made ;
Ever will be
ALL THINGS WILL DIE—THE KRAKEN-SONG.
ALL THINGS WILL DIE.
The old earth
CLEARLY the blue river chimes in its
Under my eye ; Warmly and broadly the south winds are
Over the sky. One after another the white clouds are
fleeting ; Every heart this May morning in joyance
All things must die.
Below the thunders of the upper deep ;
flee About his shadowy sides: above him swell Huge sponges of millennial growth and
height; And far away into the sickly light, From many a wondrous grot and secret cell Unnumber'd and enormous polypi Winnow with giant arms the slumbering
green. There hath he lain for ages and will lie Battening upon huge seaworms in his
sleep, Until the latter fire shall heat the deep; Then once by man and angels to be seen, In roaring he shall rise and on the surface
The winds, as at their hour of birth,
Leaning upon the ridged sea, Breathed low around the rolling earth
With mellow preludes, “We are free.'