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field grass and bulrush. I have included
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Since then – ’tis Centuries – and yet
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neither lost nor home, no longer
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It is delicious among the constellations,
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but didn’t break stride; that’s how
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Make a law that loves the one who breaks it.
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he recited poems as he tried turning into a bird
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I’m martyr to a motion not my own;
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pursued in turn as they reached the precipice
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As when a set mind, blessed by doubt,