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The sunset-gonfalons are furled

On plains of evening, broad and pale,

And, wov’n athwart the waning world,

The air is like a silver veil.

Into the thin and trembling gloom,

That holds a hueless warp of light,

The murmuring wind on a slow loom,

Weaves the rich purples of the night.

Ebony and Crystal: Poems in Verse and Prose

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