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“Daniel? Daniel...of what use are the bones of saints? Of what great interest to me are their dusted stories of day?�� I stand at a dreadful distance.
He speaks,
“Silent stones of granite hue;
enveloped now in sacred dew.
Speak somber words of restless hope...
of resurrection.��
I hear the hushings of the wind in a rhythmic silence, and turn to see a friar’s lantern on a distant ridge.”