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At Even

Hush ye! Hush ye! My babe is sleeping. Hush, ye winds, that are full of sorrow! Hush, ye rains, from your weary weeping! Give him slumber until to-morrow. Hush ye, yet! In the years hereafter, Surely sorrow is all his reaping; Tears shall be in the place of laughter, Give him peace...

By Frederic Manning
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04 November