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✦ 36 ✦ Crossing the Oars Rockaway boat in a somnolent breast, Willows sweep down over collarbones kissing Elbows and oarlocks . . . but, oh, take a rest, This is what nobody sensible misses. This is a song for more than a few. This is a song . . . of ashes of lilac, Splendor of chamomile crushed in the dew, Lips upon lips to be bartered for starlight! This means embracing the vault of the sky, Wrapping your arms around Hercules, clinging . . . This means to squander—and never say die— Night after night on the nightingale’s singing! ...

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