A sweet sidereal stranger, passing by,
Shining a while, incomparably bright,
The wonder of the sky,
Then fading from terrestrial sight.
"Oh! nothing earthly save the thrill
Of melody in woodland rill. . . . . .
Oh! nothing of this dross of ours,
Yet al the beauty, all the flowers.
Adorn you world afar, afar
The wandering star."
The little reader, when his lamp was dead,
With pain relinquishing the magic book,
Upon the pillow laid his throbbing head.
But still, but still
The song went ever babbling like a brook:
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NEW RESTRICTIONS PLACED ON WIDENER LIBRARY BOOKS