Page:The witch-maid & other verses (1914).djvu/28

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NIGHT ON THE PLAINS

Out on the plain-land at night
   There is no sound, not a sigh,
And nothing is moving now
   But scornful stars in the sky:

The night is too great for my heart,
   It flutters and halts and trips;
The terrible mirth of the stars
   Has slain my song on my lips.

Australia.

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