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through the broad earth's aching breast
i cannot always feel his greatness
glass-blower of time
as a naked man i go
shades of night were falling fast
and breaketh bread no more
risen from the dead
with her hair flaying wildly
out of the deep and the dark
glooms of the live-oaks
all those treasures that lie
why then, must we see?
though i am little as all little things

 



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