To C. E. G. on Her Birthday
Thy little destiny
Hits the bright stars on high,
Strikes roots into the deep.
Waking, thou dost not know
What armies with thee go,
Who slumbers in thy sleep.
Hits the bright stars on high,
Strikes roots into the deep.
Waking, thou dost not know
What armies with thee go,
Who slumbers in thy sleep.
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