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FOUR SONGS OF FOUR SEASONS.
181
III.
SUMMER IN AUVERGNE.
The sundawn fills the land
Full as a feaster's hand
Fills full with bloom of bland
Bright wine his cup;
Flows full to flood that fills
From the arch of air it thrills
Those rust‑red iron hills
With morning up.
Dawn, as a panther springs,
With fierce and fire‑fledged wings
Leaps on the land that rings
From her bright feet
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