by John Vance Cheney
A webby mead with diamonds set,
Dim, drowsy boughs, dream-burdened yet,
A mist-flock half-way up the steep,
Curled there, rock-folded, still asleep.
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A webby mead with diamonds set,
Dim, drowsy boughs, dream-burdened yet,
A mist-flock half-way up the steep,
Curled there, rock-folded, still asleep.