Alexander Lawrence Posey


AS evening splendors fade
  From yonder sky afar,
The Night pins on her dark
  Robe with a large bright star,
And the new moon hangs like
  A high-thrown scimitar.
Vague in the mystic room
  This side the paling west,
The Tulledegas loom
  In an eternal rest,
And one by one the lamps are lit
  In the dome of the Infinite.

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