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Poem	AS one by one the veils took flight, The day withdrew, the stars came up. The spirit issued pale and bright Filling thy beauty like a cup. Sacred thy laughter on the air, Holy thy lightest word that fell, Proud the innumerable hair That waved at the enchanter’s spell. O, Master of the Beautiful, Creating us from hour to hour, Give me this vision to the full To see in lightest things thy power. This vision give, no heaven afar, No throne, and yet I will rejoice Knowing beneath my feet a star Thy word in every wandering voice.
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