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|Cradle-Song at Twilight|
The child not yet is lulled to rest.|
Too young a nurse, the slender Night
So laxly holds him to her breast
That throbs with flight.
He plays with her, and will not sleep.|
For other playfellows she sighs;
An unmaternal fondness keep
Her alien eyes.
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Lane Core Jr. (email@example.com)
Created April 11, 2001; not revised.