DAWN OVER THE MOOR 



badly in their stalks. Vet realism can never blight that 

 exquisite hour of breaking day in her thoughts ! 

 The only time we degenerates ever really see the dawn is 

 coming home from some London ball , or again, travelling. 

 The dawn in London often gives an impression of extra- 



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ordinary blue in atmosphere and heaven, we suppose 

 because it is seen contrasted with artificial illuminations. 

 But that sapphire blue, when it permeates park and streets, 

 when the sky seems to hold unplumbed depths beyond 

 depths of the same wonderful colour, is a thing to dwell in 

 the memory likewise, though travellers have the better part. 

 Dawn in the Alps ! A night not to be depicted ! Such 

 vastness of tinted heights / such black chasms where the 

 pines hang/ spume of waterfalls all golden crimson, and 

 deep rivers, green and terrible and beautiful with a glint 

 on them as they rush ! 



One of us <the fourth in the lucky clover leaf at Villino 

 Loki / one who is poet and musician besides many other 

 things, and sometimes poet and musician together) has 

 defined the indefinable. It is not the dawn of the day she 

 hymns, but the dawn of the young Spring. 



o 209 



