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The blue wild hyssop, with its dewy mouth— Cool, moist, and heavenly 'mid the pink-bloomed mint Along the shallow creek, shrunk with the drouth,— Seen suddenly thus, seems, swift, an instant's hint Of some dim being—one, whom, still in vain, I follow where their many delicate ears The purple beard's-tongue and lobelia lean Sidewise to silence, listening for the rain Tiptoeing the trees through which she flees again— The presence that my soul adores yet fears, The Loveliness my eyes have never seen.