Eurydice

O wind, % I know your shivering ghost, % Waiting, % the singing, the falling, the whispering, flees; % O wind, % I hear you % planning and planting, the grey of your root — % O wind, % I see your stripped, your wounded hand, % and the dry, grey air % wasted and bare; % O wind, % I feel you bend my brow,—%

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