The morning comes, and thickening clouds prevail, Hanging like curtains all the horizon round, Or overhead in heavy stillness sail; So still is day, it seems like night profound; Scarce by the city's din the air is stirred, And dull and deadened comes its every sound; The cock's shrill, piercing voice subdued is heard, By the thick folds of muffling vapors drowned. Dissolved in mists the hills and trees appear,
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