Poems (Mary Coleridge)/Poem 79

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LXXIX
Night is fallen within, without,
   Come, Love, soon!
I am weary of my doubt.
The golden fire of the Sun is out,
 The silver fire of the Moon.

Love shall be
A child in me
 When they are cinders gray,
With the earth and with the sea,
With the star that shines on thee,
 And the night and day.

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