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[Page 35]

(12)
beautiful and joyous and tender.
No longer do they meet overhead as once before to tell the story of the wayside each to each. No longer do they completely arch the road and cloister it as a place of green and shadow.
The ruthless jagged pruning of them, their leanness and their rags are all too plain even in the darkness of this silver night.
Here and there on one side of the road or the other there is an extra wide streatch of sky to fault the even pace in the ranks of those rugged giant shapes. It seems that so many sentinals have failed by sleep and fallen out to slumber elsewhere unseen

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