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I. THE PLAIN was grassy, wild and bare, | |
| Wide, wild and open to the air, | |
| Which had built up everywhere | |
| An under-roof of doleful gray. | |
| With an inner voice the river ran, | 5 |
| Adown it floated a dying swan, | |
| And loudly did lament. | |
| It was the middle of the day. | |
| Ever the weary wind went on, | |
| And took the reed-tops as it went. | 10 |
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II. Some blue peaks in the distance rose, | |
| And white against the cold-white sky | |
| Shone out their crowning snows. | |
| One willow over the river wept, | |
| And shook the wave as the wind did sigh; | 15 |
| Above in the wind was the swallow, | |
| Chasing itself at its own wild will, | |
| And far thro’ the marish green and still | |
| The tangled water-courses slept, | |
| Shot over with purple, and green, and yellow. | 20 |
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III. The wild swan’s death-hymn took the soul | |
| Of that waste place with joy | |
| Hidden in sorrow: at first to the ear | |
| The warble was low, and full and clear; | |
| And floating about the under-sky, | 25 |
| Prevailing in weakness, the coronach stole | |
| Sometimes afar, and sometimes anear; | |
| But anon her awful jubilant voice, | |
| With a music strange and manifold, | |
| Flowed forth on a carol free and bold; | 30 |
| As when a mighty people rejoice | |
| With shawms, and with cymbals, and harps of gold, | |
| And the tumult of their acclaim is rolled | |
| Thro’ the open gates of the city afar, | |
| To the shepherd who watcheth the evening star. | 35 |
| And the creeping mosses and clambering weeds, | |
| And the willow-branches hoar and dank, | |
| And the wavy swell of the soughing reeds, | |
| And the wave-worn horns of the echoing bank, | |
| And the silvery marish-flowers that throng | 40 |
| The desolate creeks and pools among, | |
| Were flooded over with eddying song. | |
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