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Set on that tomb in the eternal night;
Onto my frozen fingers.
And Mère Chose's square of world, even as they
Clear-voiced despite its years, strong, eloquent—
Yes. You'd want that said, (if you
Pierced by the mist that fades away,
Are muffled into silence that refuses
They tear apart the mist, it is as though,
And I would like
Clear-voiced despite its years, strong, eloquent—
Whiteness, those pediments that rise
Columbuses or Gamas, ever pass,
By trees—or might see as the masonry
for a few weeks, statistics won't seem
And I would like
With sun's warmth wasted on a stone,
Like some poor wounded wretch—long left for dead
This third day of our January thaw,
Thinking of your abiding spirit brings