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Show Oh stormy, stormy world, — The days you were not swirled Around with mist and cloud, Or wrapped as in a shroud, And the sun’s brilliant ball Was not in part or all Obscured from mortal view, Were the days so very few I can but wonder whence I get the lasting sense Of so much warmth and light. If my mistrust is right It may be altogether From one day’s perfect weather When starting clear at dawn The day went clearly on To finish clear at eve. I verily believe My fair impression may Be all from that one day No shadow crossed but ours, - As through the blazing flowers We went from house to wood _ For change of solitude. September 11, 2001 — , : Robert Frost | ; seats |