A Prairie Sunset

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from Leaves of Grass: BOOK XXXIV. SANDS AT SEVENTY - by Walt Whitman.

  Shot gold, maroon and violet, dazzling silver, emerald, fawn,
  The earth’s whole amplitude and Nature’s multiform power consign’d
      for once to colors;
  The light, the general air possess’d by them—colors till now unknown,
  No limit, confine—not the Western sky alone—the high meridian—
      North, South, all,
  Pure luminous color fighting the silent shadows to the last.


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