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We stopped in our tracks —
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Winter afternoon
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Someone has closed a door —
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Love, love, the clouds went up the tower of the sky
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Saddled but riderless, reins dragging on the pavement,
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What old December’s bareness everywhere!
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a kind of filler / made either
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The cost of flight is landing.
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And in the dream
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Awake! Give thyself to the lovely hours.