Chapter 20 No.20

I set the trumpet to my lips and blow.

The night is broken southward; the springs run,

The daysprings and the watersprings that flow

Forth with one will from where their source was one,

Out of the might of morning: high and low,

The hungering hills feed full upon the sun,

The thirsting valleys drink of him and glow

As a heart b

            
            

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