'Neath skies that winter never knew
The air was full of light and balm,
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FROM these wild rocks I look to-day
O'er leagues of dancing waves, and see
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Dead Petra in her hill-tomb sleeps,
Her stones of emptiness remain;
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We wait beneath the furnace-blast
The pangs of transformation;
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I.
Sound over all waters, reach out from all lands,
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Talk not of sad November, when a day
Of warm, glad sunshine fills the sky of noon,
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Bland as the morning breath of June
The southwest breezes play;
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Thrice welcome from the Land of Flowers
And golden-fruited orange bowers
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The circle is broken, one seat is forsaken,
One bud from the tree of our friendship is shaken;
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One morning of the first sad Fall,
Poor Adam and his bride
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Friend of my many years!
When the great silence falls, at last, on me,
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'TIS over, Moses! All is lost! I hear the bells a-ringing;
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Oh, thicker, deeper, darker growing,
The solemn vista to the tomb
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Here, while the loom of Winter weaves
The shroud of flowers and fountains,
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The river hemmed with leaning trees
Wound through its meadows green;
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The name the Gallic exile bore,
St. Malo! from thy ancient mart,
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SCARCE had the solemn Sabbath-bell Ceased quivering in the steeple,
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We saw the slow tides go and come,
The curving surf-lines lightly drawn,
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UP, laggards of Freedom! — our free flag is cast To the blaze of the sun and the wings of the blast;
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BENEATH thy skies, November!
Thy skies of cloud and rain,
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This day, two hundred years ago,
The wild grape by the river's side,
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To-day the plant by Williams set
Its summer bloom discloses;
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To kneel before some saintly shrine,
To breathe the health of airs divine,
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MEN of the North-land! where's the manly spirit Of the true-hearted and the unshackled gone?
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Take our hands, James Russell Lowell,
Our hearts are all thy own;
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Oh, dwarfed and wronged, and stained with ill,
Behold! thou art a woman still!
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The firmament breaks up. In black eclipse
Light after light goes out. One evil star,
28 lines
When first I saw our banner wave
Above the nation's council-hall,
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In the old days (a custom laid aside
With breeches and cocked hats) the people sent
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'Midst the men and things which will
Haunt an old man's memory still,
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