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 THE • YEAR'S • AT • THE • SPRING

ERE, with one leap,

The bridge that spans the cutting; on its back

The load

Of the main-road,

And under it the railway-track.

Into the plains they sweep,

Into the solitary plains asleep,

The flowing lines, the parallel lines of steel—

Fringed with their narrow grass,

Into the plains they pass,

The flowing lines, like arms of mute appeal.

A cry

Prolonged across the earth—a call

To the remote horizons and the sky;

The whole east rushes down them with its light,

And the whole west receives them, with its pall

Of stars and night—

The flowing lines, the parallel lines of steel.

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