Without bush or tree


The landscape sleeps in mist from morn till noon

& if the sun looks through tis with a face
Beamless & pale & round as if the moon
When done the journey of her nightly race
Had found him sleeping & supplied his place
For days the shepherds in the fields may be
Nor mark a patch of sky -- blindfold they trace
The plains that seem without a bush or tree
Whistling aloud by guess to flocks they cannot see

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