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The Garden of Bright Waters

by E. Powys Mathers

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Lying Down Alone

I shall never see your tired sleep

In the bed that you make beautiful,

Nor hardly ever be a dream

That plays by your dark hair;

Yet I think I know your turning sigh

And your trusting arm’s abandonment,

For they are the picture of my night,

My night that does not end.

From the Arabic of John Duncan.

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