Between morning and morning they came.
Their tent, like a great mushroom, pushed its way
Above the trees for a single night. By the dawn
It was gone with them, gone in the first wan pallor of day,
Gone with the supple visions swinging like lights
High in the vaulted shadows, gone with the towers
Of rhythmed bodies, the spangled splendor of tights,
Gone with the clown and his laughter, gone with the delicate
White dancing horse,—all like a dream passed away,
Gone without trace, vanished before the day.
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