APPARITIONS

(Prologue to "The Two Poets of Croisic.")

Such a starved bank of moss Till, that May-morn, Blue ran the flash across: Violets were born!

Sky--what a scowl of cloud Till, near and far, Ray on ray split the shroud: Splendid, a star!

World--how it walled about Life with disgrace, Till God's own smile came out: That was thy face!

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