A single dreary elm, that stands between The sombre forest and the wan-lit lake, Halves with its slim gray stem and pendent green The shadowed point. Beyond it without break Bold brows of pine-topped granite bend away, Far to the southward, fading off in grand Soft folds of looming purple. Cool and gray, The point runs out, a blade of thinnest sand. Two rivers meet beyond it: wild and clear, Their deepening thunder breaks upon the ear— The one descending from its forest home By many an eddied pool and murmuring fall— The other cloven through the mountain wall, A race of tumbled rocks, a road of foam.SourceThe script ran 0.002 seconds.
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