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Constrained afresh, he seeks the hall;
His shrivelled fingers, how they quiver! —
Perchance that someone will deliver
His name this evening from its fall?

“Realistic Strophes” (1890).


I love moist eve by riversides,
That shells abundantly adorn,
When coolness from them gently glides
And from afar white foam is borne.

I cherish there the birches most
And willows, where the shadows crowd;
Shrill crickets, flies, — a dancing host
And distant towns in fading shroud.

Fishermen there entrance my sight
In sluggish skiff that hazes veil,
Afloat 'mid eve's decaying light,
When in blue mists red sunsets fail.

And when the eventide has sunk,
And on the stream the moon is reeling,
That rover of the night-time, drunk
With bluish haze from waters stealing,

My rhythmic tunes I love to lace
'Mid memories and wistful thought,
While wavelets plash with muffled grace
And all my spirit is distraught.

“Blossoms of Intimate Moods” (1891).