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Poem: The morning comes - Wemyss's Appalling Hobby:
From the Party Guilty of Committing 'Gate of Ivory, Gate of Horn'
wemyss
wemyss
Poem: The morning comes

The morning comes

 

The morning comes, blue-gold and bright:

Deposing the Plutonic night.

The sky is silk, clouds thread of gold,

What wonders such a day shall hold!

Until, with heaven-ripping sound,

Our batteries fire today’s first round.

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