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Between the Hills


Two green shoulders stoop to drink the lake,
And in that stillness, heaven stirs awake,
Clouds unhurried, psalm-like, drift and pass
Above the water’s slow, unshattered glass.
Silence here has learned the tongue of light,
The far shore dissolving, tender, into white;
And something more than summer lingers near,
A door left open in the quiet air.


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