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[Page 73]

9
So often have I seen the last black fold of weary night lap over and vanish in the West. While the saintly cloister grey of holy dawn stirs above the waking spirit of the East.

So often have I felt the spell of those first few solemn moments, when the world, for a space, seems hallowed, as by the mystery of some immortal presence. – Movements of sacred forgetfulness before awakened pain makes all things real again- Before the unfinished wreck and evil of yesterday become once more revealed.

So often have I beheld the wondering eye of awakened day steal with soft beauty o'er the world as if in search of vanished dreams; and then change slowly through [indecipherable] and scarlet of stance, to the fell pale glare of fear

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