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the first comes gently over the threshold
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just at the moment of making, we
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no bars, but enough signal to
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when the beloved steed, unwitting
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to see the essential fixity of the underlying form,
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what the sunshine restored to memory
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looking into the eye of the beast
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which wants to be seen
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a vain expectation of flight
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The creature gazes into openness with all
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oh, for a saying such as the things themselves would never
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And the figures at the shooting range of easy luck,
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But who are they, tell me, these Travellers, even more
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You, though, who grow in the other’s delight
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Ah, there was little caution in the sleeper: sleeping,
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Oh, and the night, the night, when the wind full of space
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like those of migratory birds. Useless, and late,
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with all the vast strange thoughts in you
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nothing made is ever ugly
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It drew itself up: the scenery was of Departure.
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and now, i must warn you, when you enter
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Why, if it could begin as laurel, and be spent so,
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Each vague turn of the world has such disinherited ones,
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(Like a youth, to the youth looking out curiously)
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what here they could never master, their high daring
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These plunge ahead: they go before their own smile,
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Since near to death one no longer sees death,
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such subtle evidence of care
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to surely hide the impress of steps
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an inscription exaltedly impressed itself on you