by John Vance Cheney
The winds are faint; the leaves, not sure they blow,
Fall slumbering as they flutter to and fro.
So, drowsy fancies, out of dream you start,
To fall asleep again upon my heart.
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My Fancies
Poems of the Day
The winds are faint; the leaves, not sure they blow,
Fall slumbering as they flutter to and fro.
So, drowsy fancies, out of dream you start,
To fall asleep again upon my heart.