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The wind of morn awoke before the line
Of dawn's pearl haze made pale the eastern sky,
And woke the birds and woodland creatures shy,
And sighed night's dirge through tremulous boughs of pine.
The north and south sky flushed, and the divine
Rose-radiance touched the moorland lone and high,
While still the wood was dusk, where, by and by,
Splendid and strong the risen sun should shine.
It shone--on two that through the woodland came
With eyes averted and cold hands that clung
And weary lips that knew forbidden things,
And hearts made sick with vain imaginings--
And over all the wood its glory flung,
The wood--that never more could be the same.

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