[28 May 2019]
None, nó, none; nor will there be more. Here,
There, where once the wilding winds wind théir path
Stop still, still stop, find sweet rest beyond the math
Of restless dividends and feet and unsanctioned supplication. Fear,
Then frost, thén flame, then light dapple-drawn between the near
And the far-gone fields, the seer, fár-flung free might sigh and strath
Cry on. For whý? That Í might fly? That I might bath
And wrestling wrest the glancing light from his eyes and cheer?
The sea, the sea. The wilderness of Eden grown wild,
Reviled, ánd táught sóngs. See the rotted rod
Made new, or taught, and re-taut. Hark! Heart! And there! The child,
The cellar suckling sapped súccour exiled, awed
And start dearest draughts dígs deep and mild
Líes dówn in the shallows in the arm of his brother and the hand of his God.
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