The happy lark sings dulcet Resurrection!
His silver strands, like notes, weave pearly cloth,
Abide no warring, strife or misdirection;
The Little Folk come softly to the wroth,
And make them glad and wakeful in new Sun.
Elves almost show themselves, then whirl away!
They cannot stop their mischief, for the fun,
They do not flee from shadows, for ‘tis day.
O! ...
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