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Poem by Thomas MacDonagh
Snow at Morning
As with fitful tune, All a heart-born air, Note by note doth fall The far vision fair From the Source of all On the dreaming soul, Fall to vanish soon. From the darkening dome, Starlight every one Brightening down its way, Each a little swan From a cygnet grey, Wave on wave doth sail, Whitening into foam. Late unloosed by God From their cage aloft Somewhere near the sky Snow flakes flutter soft, Flutter, fall, and die On the pavement mute, On the fields untrod.
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