Of One Asleep

By George Sterling

Clear you call above the grasses,
Where the lonely river passes
    Gently, but she cannot hear—
Thrush of twilight, lark of morning.
Quail of noon whose crystal warning
    Tells of one who wanders near.

Ever out across the valley
Veering hawk or swallow sally,
    And the snowy gull goes free.
Pine and poppy, sage and willow,
Silver foam and azure billow,
    Wait us, but she cannot see.

Wind of autumn, hush of dreaming,
Star of evening westward gleaming,
    Still you haunt me from the Past,
Voice of ocean, sadly calling,
Still you haunt the days befalling
    And the days that could not last.

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