Like a joy on the heart of a sorrow,
  The sunset hangs on a cloud;
A golden storm of glittering sheaves,
Of fair and frail and fluttering leaves,
  The wild wind blows in a cloud.
 
Hark to a voice that is calling
  To my heart in the voice of the wind:
My heart is weary and sad and alone,
For its dreams like the fluttering leaves have gone,
  And why should I stay behind?

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