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stubble burning 127
And there's time in the night
For the god that makes the bright
Splash of the wine and then
That gleam and splash again
That frees both heart and head
To let his warmth and light,
In all that's done and said,
Slowly spread.
And music and the rest
The muses shape is best,
Too, while it's happening --
He made his nephew sing
Some Sappho twice, and why?
It seemed a thing he might
That very winter night
Learn and die.
And all that the muses do,
At once lovely and true,
Starts, not in public light
But somewhere in a night
As private as -- the slight
Sound of her quick step through
The door (being for you
All delight).