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Trails & paths.
"Every deepest copse in moonshine bright, Glimmered from hoary trunk to frost-tipped bud. . . . Scores of gray-skinned brutes--a direful pack Of wolves half-starved that yelled along their track."
From
Poems of Paul Hamilton Hayne.
"We turn, my love and I, From that strange grave together."
From
Poems of Paul Hamilton Hayne.
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