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Not knowing when the dawn will come
I open every door;
Or has it feathers like a bird,
Or billows like a shore?
A murmur in the trees to note,
Not loud enough for wind;
A star not far enough to seek,
Nor near enough to find;
A long, long yellow on the lawn,
A hubbub as of feet;
Not audible, as ours to us,
But dapperer, more sweet;

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