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Midnight

 The stars are soft as flowers, and as near;
The hills are webs of shadow, slowly spun;
No separate leaf or single blade is here-
All blend to one.
No moonbeam cuts the air; a sapphire light Rolls lazily.
and slips again to rest.
There is no edged thing in all this night, Save in my breast.

Poem by Louise Gluck
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