Born
By gauze and linen
The plea hath left
A newborn pinion—
Stroke the weeping theft:
Yet what I write
And dare to think
Is of such plowing might
As birth to fore-link.
What is so quiet
Before a whisper dies,
As the wandering hope
Underneath loosely lies?
The plea hath left
A newborn pinion—
Stroke the weeping theft:
Yet what I write
And dare to think
Is of such plowing might
As birth to fore-link.
What is so quiet
Before a whisper dies,
As the wandering hope
Underneath loosely lies?
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