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Poem by Charles Hamilton Sorley
We are the homeless, even as you, Who hope and never can begin. Our hearts are wounded through and through Like yours, but our hearts bleed within. We too make music, but our tones 'Scape not the barrier of our bones. We have no comeliness like you. We toil, unlovely, and we spin. We start, return: we wind, undo: We hope, we err, we strive, we sin, We love: your love's not greater, but The lips of our love's might stay shut. We have the evil spirits too That shake our soul with battle-din. But we have an eviller spirit than you, We have a dumb spirit within: The exceeding bitter agony But not the exceeding bitter cry.
Charles Hamilton Sorley
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