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Poem by Christopher Pearse Cranch Sonnet 7. THOSE times are gone, that circle thinned away THOSE times are gone, that circle thinned away, And we who live, now scattered far and wide, Each in our separate centres fixed abide, Round which new interests now revolve and play In separate loves and duties day by day. Yet, by the records of old loves allied, We clasp each other's hands beneath the tide Of time, and cling together as we may. Even so beneath the sea the throbbing wires That bind the sundered continents in one, In space-annihilating pulses thrill With swift-winged words and purpose and desires. Our earlier visions haunt our memories still, And age grows young in friendship's quickening sun. Christopher Pearse Cranch Christopher Pearse Cranch's other poems:
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