Sighed the wind to the wheat: —
" The Queen who is slumbering there,
Once bewildered the rose;
Scorned, " Thou un-fair!"
Once, from that bird-whirring court,
Ascended the ruinous stair.
Aloft, on that weed-hung turret, suns
Smote on her hair —
Of a gold by Archiac sought,
Of a gold sea-hid,
Of a gold that from core of quartz
No flame shall bid
Pour into light of the air
For God's Jews to see. "

Mocked the wheat to the wind: —
" Kiss me! Kiss me! "
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