I am your reed, sweet shepherd, glad to be. Now, if you will, breathe out your joy in me And make bright song. Or fill me with the soft moan of your love When your delight has failed to call or move The flock from wrong. Make children's songs, or any songs, to fill Your reed with breath of life; But at your will, lay down the flute, And take repose, while music infinite Is silence in your heart; and laid on it Your reed is mute.
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