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Wish! and it's thine!
the changeling piped,
Shrill from her throne.
And I with dew-soaked shoes
could only Stare in return.

High up above me sang the lark,
Beneath me lay the sea,

Gorse, bramble, rock, and winchat
were My only company.
Her tiny voice fell faint, and lo,
Where she had been,
Leaned but a few-days-budded rose

Out of the green.

© Solitude by
Walter de la Mare