MORNING 



knoll, or in the hollow of the creek, 

 the subtle scents, still undiffused, hung 

 above their magic source. When pass- 

 ing through these invisible strata of 

 the Morning air, one had a sense of 

 walking in a fairy garden where rarest 

 flowers grew in countless numbers, 

 each redolent of the ambrosial attar of 

 the gods. 



Now far on the southern horizon a 

 single shaft of light showed in contrast 

 to the sombre mist-clouds all about. 

 Above the woods a great round cloud 

 caught the rising sun's rays and glowed 

 with light, reflecting it downward 

 through the lattice of the trees, 

 strangely illuminating the forest floor 

 and awakening new choristers to song. 

 The sun came peeping quickly, casting 

 level rays across the fields, and faintly 

 touching the eastern sides of the trees 

 with ruddy warmth. 



The pale mists came creeping down 

 the hills and stole along the hollows 

 in phantom companies. They lifted 

 shadowy forms that rose and fell and 

 slowly waved their trailing veils. They 

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