"the Laurel Wreath" (A Memorial.) : Original Poems.

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48 The rare glory of the sunset and the glittering gems of light, Are but the splendid prelude of the swift advancing night; The short years through which we're passing ever quickly speeding on, Are but little rays betokening that our promised morn shall dawn.
MORNING.
Over the brow of the mountain ringing, Song floats that the dying swan is singing; And above his pine crowned head and high, The misty cities of cloudland lie, Like a fair Valhalla in the sky.
Wide open are swinging the gates of
...morning; In the East, a finger of rosy warning Bids Styx-like Night with his shades beware, Lest Aurora come and find him there, And bewitch him with her golden hair.
NIGHT'S COMING.
Twilight hastened with silent feet, Over the meadows brown; Day went to rest out in the west, Where the great golden sun goes down Tenderly — silently — tenderly, Day kissed the world farewell; Smiling she yielded her amber throne To night and night's dreamy spell.
49 Calm as a soul whose storm and strife Are over and done for aye, Bringing release, breathing of peace, The dark quiet hours sped by.


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