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Editor's Selection of Poems
The Birthnight

by Walter de la Mare

 Dearest, it was a night
 That in its darkness racked Orion's stars;
 A sighing wind ran faintly white
 Along the willows, and the cedar boughs
 Laid their wide hands in stealthy peace across
 The starry silence of their antique moss:
 No sound save rushing air
 Cold, yet all sweet with Spring,
 And in thy mother's arms, couched weeping there,
 Thou, lovely thing. 
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