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Noonday upon the Alpine meadows
  Pours its avalanche of Light
  And blazing flowers: the very shadows
  Translucent are and bright.
  It seems a glory that nought surpasses--
  Passion of angels in form and hue--
  When, lo! from the jewelled heaven of the grasses
  Leaps a lightning of sudden blue.
  Dimming the sun-drunk petals,
  Bright even unto pain,
  The grasshopper flashes, settles,
  And then is quenched again.

© Aldous Huxley