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[267] Rivers of gold-mist flowing down
     From far celestial fountains,—
The great sun flaming through the rifts
     Beyond the wall of mountains!

We paused at last where home-bound cows
     Brought down the pasture's treasure,
And in the barn the rhythmic flails
     Beat out a harvest measure.

We heard the night-hawk's sullen plunge,
     The crow his tree-mates calling:
The shadows lengthening down the slopes
     About our feet Were falling.

And through them smote the level sun
     In broken lines of splendor,
Touched the gray rocks and made the green
     Of the shorn grass more tender.

The maples bending o'er the gate,
     Their arch of leaves just tinted
With yellow warmth, the golden glow
     Of coming autumn hinted.

Keen white between the farm-house showed,
     And smiled on porch and trellis,
The fair democracy of flowers
     That equals cot and palace.

And weaving garlands for her dog,
     'Twixt chidings and caresses,
A human flower of childhood shook
     The sunshine from her tresses.

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