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The Sad Shepherd
| There was a man whom Sorrow named his friend, | | And he, of his high comrade Sorrow dreaming, | | Went
walking with slow steps along the gleaming | | And humming sands, where windy surges wend: | | And he
called loudly to the stars to bend | | From their pale thrones and comfort him, but they | | Among themselves
laugh on and sing alway: | | And then the man whom Sorrow named his friend | | Cried out, Dim sea, hear
my most piteous story! | | The sea swept on and cried her old cry still, | | Rolling along in dreams from hill to
hill. | | He fled the persecution of her glory | | And, in a far-off, gentle valley stopping, | | Cried all his story to the
dewdrops glistening. | | But naught they heard, for they are always listening, | | The dewdrops, for the sound
of their own dropping. | | And then the man whom Sorrow named his friend | | Sought once again the shore,
and found a shell, | | And thought, I will my heavy story tell | | Till my own words, re-echoing, shall send | | Their sadness through a hollow, pearly heart; | | And my own tale again for me shall sing, | | And my own
whispering words be comforting, | | And lo! my ancient burden may depart. | | Then he sang softly nigh the
pearly rim; | | But the sad dweller by the sea-ways lone | | Changed all he sang to inarticulate moan | | Among
her wildering whirls, forgetting him. |
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