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tattoo to accent the melody of these small 

 throats. Merry Master Yellow-breast, you 

 have no fear of ghosts. All in the white 

 cloud you break your heart of music to hail 

 the new day. 



Slow, faint, yet ever-brightening it comes. 

 Low, level sunbeams dissolve in the mist 

 and distil them tears of radiance from 

 sparse red and yellow leaves. How slow 

 they fall from this blood - red gum - tree 

 slow and still as the passing of a dead, dear 

 hope. 



Uplift the face to them. May-Day's even 

 dew is no more freshening, revivifying. 

 Now the air thins, but does not clear. Mist 

 still wraps the world- as a garment, but has 

 lost its shroud - whiteness and taken on a 

 gray translucence. All things are seen as 

 in a glass darkly. Even the red boughs 

 overhead redly crimson as murder take 

 on a tender color as languid airs stir faintly 

 through. 



A miracle has been wrought along grass- 

 land and hedge-row. You have seen them 

 dank or dew-bright this many a time and 

 oft. Rarely in such raiment of pearl-sown 

 gossamer as now enfolds. All in the bright 

 weather the spiders spun it swiftly, deftly, 

 with cunning patience. Winds blew low, 



