Page:Poems·from·the·Port·Hills-Blanche·Edith·Baughan-1923.pdf/19

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Now the snows were a march of kings, and the sea was a glass of glory;
Halo’d with rose was the plain, and robed in royalest purple;
The hill-top glow’d, and rays from the deep-down city windows
Flash’d through the shining mist like triumph from tear-fill’d eyes.


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