Chancing on Old Friends in a Village Inn
While the autumn moon is pouring full
On a thousand night-levels among towns and villages,
There meet by chance, south of the river,
Dreaming doubters of a dream ...
In the trees a wind has startled the birds,
And insects cower from cold in the grass;
But wayfarers at least have wine
And nothing to fear — till the morning bell.
On a thousand night-levels among towns and villages,
There meet by chance, south of the river,
Dreaming doubters of a dream ...
In the trees a wind has startled the birds,
And insects cower from cold in the grass;
But wayfarers at least have wine
And nothing to fear — till the morning bell.
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