Dawn

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The immortal spirit hath no bars
 To circumscribe its dwelling place;
My soul hath pastured with the stars
 Upon the meadow-lands of space.

My mind and ear at times have caught,
 From realms beyond our mortal reach,
The utterance of Eternal Thought
 Of which all nature is the speech.

And high above the seas and lands,
 On peaks just tipped with morning light,
My dauntless spirit mutely stands
 With eagle wings outspread for flight.

© Frederick George Scott