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Bathed in the tenderest purple of distance, Tinted and shadowed by pencils of air, Thy battlements hang o'er the slopes and the forests, Seats of the gods in the limitless ether, Looming sublimely aloft and afar.
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Bathed in the tenderest purple of distance, Tinted and shadowed by pencils of air, Thy battlements hang o'er the slopes and the forests, Seats of the gods in the limitless ether, Looming sublimely aloft and afar. by : Bayard Taylor