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THE MEET OF THE WINDS.

Until they vanished in the vague Beyond.

And many winds about his brow were blowing,

Each breath a thought, of selfish subject purged;

For life is but a spirit, breathing, growing,

In boundless air whence spirit, soul, emerged. -

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He deemed that through the night the winds were warring,

Each blast from diverse distance thither faring,

And many thoughts of clashing tenor bearing -

And so his spirit in the winds was merged:

I am the North-wind, - from the gleaming land

I bring the icy breath of crystal truth;

No cheating haze about my throne can stand,

Nor change, nor stupor ye call joy, in sooth!

Down o'er the hushed plains, with seething swoop,

I bleach the reedy rustle of the field;

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