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| SWEETEST of all childlike dreams | |
| In the simple Indian lore | |
| Still to me the legend seems | |
| Of the shapes who flit before. | |
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| Flitting, passing, seen and gone, | 5 |
| Never reached nor found at rest, | |
| Baffling search, but beckoning on | |
| To the Sunset of the Blest. | |
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| From the clefts of mountain rocks, | |
| Through the dark of lowland firs, | 10 |
| Flash the eyes and flow the locks | |
| Of the mystic Vanishers! | |
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| And the fisher in his skiff, | |
| And the hunter on the moss, | |
| Hear their call from cape and cliff, | 15 |
| See their hands the birch-leaves toss. | |
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| Wistful, longing, through the green | |
| Twilight of the clustered pines, | |
| In their faces rarely seen | |
| Beauty more than mortal shines. | 20 |
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| Fringed with gold their mantles flow | |
| On the slopes of westering knolls; | |
| In the wind they whisper low | |
| Of the Sunset Land of Souls. | |
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| Doubt who may, O friend of mine! | 25 |
| Thou and I have seen them too; | |
| On before with beck and sign | |
| Still they glide, and we pursue. | |
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| More than clouds of purple trail | |
| In the gold of setting day; | 30 |
| More than gleams of wing or sail | |
| Beckon from the sea-mist gray. | |
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| Glimpses of immortal youth, | |
| Gleams and glories seen and flown, | |
| Far-heard voices sweet with truth, | 35 |
| Airs from viewless Eden blown; | |
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| Beauty that eludes our grasp, | |
| Sweetness that transcends our taste, | |
| Loving hands we may not clasp, | |
| Shining feet that mock our haste; | 40 |
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| Gentle eyes we closed below, | |
| Tender voices heard once more, | |
| Smile and call us, as they go | |
| On and onward, still before. | |
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| Guided thus, O friend of mine! | 45 |
| Let us walk our little way, | |
| Knowing by each beckoning sign | |
| That we are not quite astray. | |
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| Chase we still, with baffled feet, | |
| Smiling eye and waving hand, | 50 |
| Sought and seeker soon shall meet, | |
| Lost and found, in Sunset Land! | |
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