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161

SONNET XIII
TWO NIGHTS

The same blue overhanging vault of sky
And the same stars, and the same breeze that leaps
Along the heavens,—and the same moon that sweeps,
Majestic, through the hedgeless fields on high,
Scanning creation with cold ageless eye.
But what a change in two nights—lo! the lone
And solemn desert, and a town half-shown
Under the moon,—and the warm night-wind's sigh;
White columns, and the brow-bound blue-black hair
Of the Assyrian harlot and her face
Hard and clear-cut within the market-place
(And that same changeless golden moon still there!):—
Another night: our Strand and all its glare,
And gay-gowned wantons of another race.