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The curtain-hooks were gilt as sunset sank.
Springtide along the torrents turns to gloom.
Wafts from green shores yon gardens' sweet perfume.
The gatherers of fuel, their meal to cook,
Have stayed their vessel on a sandy bank.


The shrieking birds that fight to settle there
Fall down. And all about the garden--look!--
A cloud of insects flying in the air.
Oh! muddy lees of wine!--who made you so
That one deep draught will scatter all my woe?