CHARLES DI TOCCA



Dim words on moonbeams to us. 0 for one
That shall sound of forgiveness and of rest!
(M3ore w idly.)
0 I have started on the mountain's brow
A tremor that has loosed the avalanche;
And penitence too late-too late-too late-
Was powerless as flowers along its path !
       (He s-inks back into h1s chair and stares
         hopelessly before him.)

                  C'URTAIN.



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