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.

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