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ISSUE:  Summer 1934

Piercing the dark clouds always this bright clearing
Hovers above the meadows of my mind:
With each recurrent daybreak I am hearing
No dearth of lark-song arrowing the wind.
There is no lack of wildflowers on the hills,
No brook grown fainter with its crystal notes,
And, breathing deep of twilight, my heart fills
Still with the fragrance of the lilies’ throats.
Young lovers, arm in arm, and eyes alight,
Seek out their shadowy lanes beneath the shower
Of stars unfolding like a dream begun;
The sun climbs up the East its appointed hour.
Nothing has changed but gold.
What is gold to one Who holds his world against his heart tonight?


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