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Pegasus, v. 2, issue 1, Summer 1943
Page 15
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NIGHT RAIN The night rain in the nodding garden Makes rose leaves dance where no wind blows; Behind green coats the young buds harden, Behind black clouds a young moon glows. The rain's light touch on still, dark water Stirs rings of ripples. Each lily sways Alone - no night moths come to court her; On lily pads the slight rain plays. The dial marks no moonlit hours, The clouds' thick masses dim the skies; Within the garden's cold, wet bowers No single bird or insect flies. Still, with a beat that does not cease, The rain gives dancing leaves no peace. -- Louis Russel Chauvenet "WHITE IN THE MOON..." The passing ships of night are dark, And weary lies the way before the wanderer, Who, tired an desirous of sleep, would stop. But he cannot linger, May not ponder the days Which pass before his gaze, Heavyladen with the dust of memories. -- Bob Jones
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NIGHT RAIN The night rain in the nodding garden Makes rose leaves dance where no wind blows; Behind green coats the young buds harden, Behind black clouds a young moon glows. The rain's light touch on still, dark water Stirs rings of ripples. Each lily sways Alone - no night moths come to court her; On lily pads the slight rain plays. The dial marks no moonlit hours, The clouds' thick masses dim the skies; Within the garden's cold, wet bowers No single bird or insect flies. Still, with a beat that does not cease, The rain gives dancing leaves no peace. -- Louis Russel Chauvenet "WHITE IN THE MOON..." The passing ships of night are dark, And weary lies the way before the wanderer, Who, tired an desirous of sleep, would stop. But he cannot linger, May not ponder the days Which pass before his gaze, Heavyladen with the dust of memories. -- Bob Jones
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