  Lightly He blows, and at His breath they fall, The perishing kindreds of the leaves; they drift, Spent flames of scarlet, gold aerial, Across the hollow year, noiseless and swift. Lightly He blows, and countless as the falling Of snow by night upon a solemn sea, The ages circle down beyond recalling, To strew the hollows of Eternity. He sees them drifting through the spaces dim, |
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