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grieve not for the invisible
how shall i help to right the world that is going wrong
the hypocritic days
with joy and wonder
how like the stars are these white, nameless faces
doubtless i remember still
a gleam of gold in gloom and gray
i sometimes wonder if it's really true
simply speaking
i am weary of being bitter and weary of being wise
before the solemn bronze saint

 



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