Sweet comes...

Sweet comes the misty mornings in September
Among the dewy paths how sweet to stray
Greensward or stubbles as I well remember
I once have done — the mist curls thick & grey
As cottage smoke — like net work on the sprey
Or seeded grass the cobweb draperies run
Beaded with pearls of dew at early day
& o’er the pleachy stubbles peeps the sun
The lamp of day when that of night is done

(lines 696-704, Child Harold)

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