I've known a Heaven, like a Tent - To wrap it's shining Yards - Pluck up it's stakes, and disappear - Without the sound of Boards Or Rip of Nail - Or Carpenter - But just the miles of Stare - That signalize a Show's Retreat - In North America - No Trace - no Figment of the Thing That dazzled, Yesterday, No Ring - no Marvel - Men, and Feats - Dissolved as utterly - As Bird's far Navigation Discloses just a Hue - A plash of Oars, a Gaiety - Then swallowed up, of View.
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