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FROM DUSK TO DAWN.
FROM DUSK TO DAWN.
IT was just at the close of a summer day,
When the fair, young moon in the east was up,
And falling, as falls the peace of God,
The dew dropped balm in the wild-flower's cup.

And soft south winds touched the weary brow
Of a woman who leaned on a cottage gate
And lingered to catch the low, sweet call
Of a late bird singing home to his mate.

From within she heard the household talk,
As if each to other were true and dear,
And after her, down the lonesome street,
Followed the sound of mirthful cheer.