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The Circle by Hazel Hall










The Circle

by Hazel Hall

Dreams—and an old, old waking,

An unspent vision gone;

Night, clean with silence, breaking

Into loud dawn.

 

A wonder that is blurring

The new day’s strange demands,

The indomitable stirring

Of folded hands.

 

Then only the hours’ pageant

And the drowsing sound of their creep,

Bringing at last the vagrant

Dreams of new sleep.