The Sun kept stooping — stooping — low!

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The Sun kept stooping — stooping — low!
The Hills to meet him rose!
On his side, what Transaction!
On their side, what Repose!

Deeper and deeper grew the stain
Upon the window pane —
Thicker and thicker stood the feet
Until the Tyrian

Was crowded dense with Armies —
So gay, so Brigadier —
That I felt martial stirrings
Who once the Cockade wore —

Charged from my chimney corner —
But Nobody was there!

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