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Show THE CRAGS. Oh, tho shifting lights and shadows On yon cliffs of misty gray, Never twice the self-same picture, Tones and contours melt and sway. Earliest morn when all the canyon Wrapped In shadows still and dark, Pulsing to the stream s soft murmur, Chorused with the meadow lark. Perched the un undisputed monarch, On a pine tree's topmost branch, As soft tho rosy shafts of sunlight, Strikes the peaks as with a lance. And their tenso, unyielding outlines Quickly melt to palest gold, As the valley's darkling shadows Wake to lifo so new, so old. Glowing raid-day bold and flaunting, Shafts of sunlight bares each peak. Glancing into dimpling eddies, Tossing spray about their feet 1 Golden, rose-tipped mists of sunset, Tonderb above you cling, Wrapping rocks and earth In glory. While sentinel pines their requiem sing And at last the drowsy mate call Of the birds among the trees Echoes sighing thro' the branches, Calls goodnight along the breeze. Harriet Blako Jeffries in Spokane Chronicle. 2 00 |