II

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II

Eastward the dawn has broken red,

The circling mists and shadows flee;

Aurora rises from the sea,

And leaves the crocus-flowered bed.

Eastward the silver arrows fall,

Splintering the veil of holy night:

And a long wave of yellow light

Breaks silently on tower and hall.

And speeding wide across the wold

Wakes into flight some fluttering bird;

And all the chestnut tops are stirred,

And all the branches streaked with gold.