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(Excerpt) FOR weeks the clouds had raked the hills, | |
| And vexed the vales with raining; | |
| And all the woods were sad with mist, | |
| And all the brooks complaining. | |
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| At last a sudden night-storm tore | 5 |
| The mountain veils asunder, | |
| And swept the valleys clean before | |
| The besom of the thunder. | |
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| Through Sandwich Notch the west-wind sang | |
| Good-morrow to the cotter; | 10 |
| And once again Chocoruas horn | |
| Of shadow pierced the water. | |
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| Above his broad lake, Ossipee, | |
| Once more the sunshine wearing, | |
| Stooped, tracing on that silver shield | 15 |
| His grim armorial bearing. | |
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| Clear drawn against the hard blue sky, | |
| The peaks had winters keenness; | |
| And, close on autumns frost, the vales | |
| Had more than Janes fresh greenness. | 20 |
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| You should have seen that long hill-range | |
| With gaps of brightness riven, | |
| How through each pass and hollow streamed | |
| The purple lights of heaven; | |
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| Rivers of gold-mist flowing down | 25 |
| From far celestial fountains; | |
| The great sun flaming through the rifts | |
| Beyond the wall of mountains! | |
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