Chapter IV
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Wind of the summer noon,
Wind of the hills,
Gently the hand of June
Stays thee and stills.
Far off, untouched by tears,
Raptures or ills,
Sleeps he a thousand years
Out on the hills.
Wind of the summer noon,
Wind of the hills,
Is the land fair and boon
Whither he wills?
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By the Aurelian Wall, and Other ElegiesChapter IV
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