Midnight Tea
My cup has cooled. The steaming tea I've sipped
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This midnight hour--'twas meant to chase away
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A frightening dream--is now deplete and tepid;
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Just one swirl of tender green remains.
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But, oh, the moments past, still comfort fresh
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And counted by the ticking mantle clock,
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I warmed my fingers, prayer-like, round the cup
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And let the first hot taste break threshold--then
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In bursts of calm, each sip came tingling down
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My throat like hosts of microscopic bells,
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And spread like sunlight cut through heavy clouds.
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The moon, at full, gleams white and hard tonight,
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While I, full-mellowed, couched in shadow, sense
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The god of tea wisdom, kind minister,
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Released from well-steeped leaves and fragrant vapors,
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Drifting round my head, and soon I have
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Forgotten moonlight, ticking, and my dream.
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Inside my falling eyelids soon I see
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Soft images of hands--all pouring tea.
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