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What heavens opened and blazed,
What sisters virtuous,
What arrows sprang to mark,
The trees so terrible and dark,
What years, what hopes,
What lions all amazed,
What fears disguised,
(These antelopes with frightened eyes)
What things are these?
These are the things that all day long
On things made new
After the sunset has merged with the dawn
I bring to you
These are the things that grow less and less
As sleep devours our nakedness.
poem by Harry Crosby
Added by Poetry Lover
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