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IX.


A golden radiance shines,
And day declines;
Red in the dying sun,
Day's course is run;
And weary labourers have homeward gone,
Their day's work done.

The cornfield now is still,
To-morrow will
Bring back the men who reap:
But now asleep
The woods and fields and meadows seem to lie--
Restful as I.

_E. Nesbit._

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X.