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though i am little as all little things
the darkness rolls upward
roses and gold
the pale day drowses on the western steep
your body's motion is like music
winged shadows sweeping by
melancholy days have come
while i stood listening, discreetly dumb
i know not where
have you seen walking through the village
i stood
through the broad earth's aching breast
i am weary of being bitter and weary of being wise

 



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