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The forest from the Iron Gates, Danube

posted in: Poetry, Travel | 0

Out of the mid-wood’s twilight
 Into the meadow’s dawn,
 Ivory limbed and brown-eyed,
 Flashes my Faun!
 
 He skips through the copses singing,
 And his shadow dances along,
 And I know not which I should follow,
 Shadow or song!
 
 O Hunter, snare me his shadow!
 O Nightingale, catch me his strain!
 Else moonstruck with music and madness
 I track him in vain!
 
 
 (Oscar Wilde, In The Forest)

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