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Robert Bridges

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The broad cloud-driving moon in the clear sky
Lifts o’er the firs her shining shield,
And in her tranquil light
Sleep falls on forest and field.
See! sleep hath fallen: the trees are asleep:
The night is come. The land is wrapt in sleep.
--
The Storm is Over, The Land Hushes to Rest, l. 38-43.

 
Robert Bridges

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