Page:Themes and variations (IA themesvariations00wils).pdf/12
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viii
Preface.
And yet it may be that we sometimes glean
In others’ fields, although unconsciously;
We are sleep-walkers, and our feet have been
We know not where, beneath our mother sky.
Light moves his step, who walks the waving rye!
The moon is large,—the rustling harvest gleams,
Soft music stirs—wake not the fool of dreams!
In others’ fields, although unconsciously;
We are sleep-walkers, and our feet have been
We know not where, beneath our mother sky.
Light moves his step, who walks the waving rye!
The moon is large,—the rustling harvest gleams,
Soft music stirs—wake not the fool of dreams!