Chapter 1
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Dawn and dusk mingle in a gated glade,
Fenced by birch and stone,
By river dark and dismal deep,
Who murmur placid,
All alone.
Who will drive the winter’s breath,
In barren land,
Cold as death?
Who will wander witless fair,
Down dusted roads,
Through fox’s lare?
Dream not ye mind of mine,
And amble hard to kinder climb.
An hour fadeth.
Thy stay is done.
O spirit heavy,
Homeward run.
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