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Late evening, on the first
of May--
The twilit May--the time of love.
Meltingly called the turtle-dove,
Where rich and sweet pinewoods lay.
Whispered of love the mosses frail,
The flowering tree as sweetly lied,
The rose's fragrant sigh replied
To love-songs of the nightingale.
In shadowy woods the burnished lake
Darkly complained a secret pain,
By circling shores embraced again;
And heaven's clear sun leaned down
to take A road astray in azure deeps,
Like burning tears the lover weeps.
A haze of stars in heaven hovers--
Karel Hynek Macha
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