Fairy spirits of the breeze-
Frailer nothing is than these.
Fancies born we know not where-
In the heart or in the air;
Wandering echoes blown unsought
From far crystal peaks of thought;
Shadows, fading at the dawn,
Ghosts of feeling dead and gone:
Alas! Are all fair things that live
Still lovely and still fugitive?
- Unwritten Poems by William Winter
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