and valuable every squandered year
underneath the spell of solitude
renewed by draughts of quietude.
Evening is heaven to famished eyes
nourished by feasts of starry skies
as fragrant moonflowers slowly bloom
and nightingales serenade the gloom.
Down stony paths go weary feet
rewards of sleeplessness to meet:
each winking star and trembling leaf
will assuage the heart in every grief.
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