the spell of an indescribable peace will rest 

 upon the earth, but a peace that will be but 

 a brief truce between elements soon to close 

 in struggle again. To-day, however, one 

 feels the repose of a finished work before 

 the first mellow touch of decay has come. 

 The full, rich foliage still shelters the paths 

 upon which the leaves have not yet fallen ; 

 the meadows are green ; the skies soft and 

 benignant. The conquest of summer is 

 still intact, but here and there one sees 

 slight but unmistakable evidence that the 

 garrison, under cover of night, is beginning 

 its long retreat. In such a moment one 

 feels a sudden sense of loneliness, as if a 

 friend were secretly preparing to desert one 

 to his foes. 



In this pause of the season one finds the 

 subtle beauty and completeness of the 

 summer growing upon him more and more. 

 While the work was going forward, there 

 was such profound interest in the process 

 that one watched the turn and direction of 

 the chisel rather than the surface of the 

 marble slowly answering, line by line, the 

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