Fragment - August 4, 1856


    A lovely morning, without the glare of the sun, the sea in great commotion, chafing and foaming.

    So from the bosom of darkness our days come roaring and gleaming,
        Chafe and break into foam, sink into darkness again.
    But on the shores of Time each leaves some trace of its passage,
        Though the succeeding wave washes it out from the sand.


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