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BALM OF NATURE, by                    
First Line: I cannot nurse an ancient grief
Last Line: Enchanting hills are beckoning.
Subject(s): Nature

I cannot nurse an ancient grief
When overhead a bird is calling,
When down the wind a golden leaf
Is gaily fluttering and falling.

Pale wraiths of buried wrongs slip by,
Lost in the shadows of the past,
When great cloud-ships are riding high --
Flame sails aglow, from every mast.

I cannot stay where love lies riven
And hate his score is reckoning,
When, high against a turquoise heaven,
Enchanting hills are beckoning.

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