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A Summer Day

Long aisles of larches stretch away,
Mysterious, dim;
And in their branches breezes play
A solemn hymn.

Across the glades the larches fling
Their shadows, stirred
Faintly, but no bird lifts a wing,
And sings no bird.

The flecks of sunlight shift and crowd
So goldenly,
And softly faints the last thin cloud
From the blue sky.

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