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The Inn of Dreams

Shadow-Nets

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When I was wandering on the Downs to-day I saw the pine-woods sleeping in the sun . . . For they were tired of weaving shadow-nets— Weaving all day in vain . . . in vain . . . in vain . . . Pale phantom nets to snare the golden sun! And then I thought of how the poets weave With shadowy words their cunning nets of song, Hoping to catch, at last, a shining dream!

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