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WHO inhabits the cities of leaves,
With their streets of bending boughs,
And their green-walled houses,
cool and dim As cloisters for monkish vows?
Not monks I ween, for I hear their songs,
So merry, and sweet and gay,
And love is breathed in each swelling note
Of their rippling roundelay.
In those houses high were room for two
When first they were builded there:
What hopes were woven with each soft strand
That fashioned their circle fair!
Oh happy lovers!—in safe retreat
From my prying eyes below,—
You have waked anew my heart's old griefs
From the days of long ago.
—Mary Vaughan.
Western, Field. Western Field - Sportsmans Magazine of the West. San Francisco: Western Field, 1907.
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