Apparitions I A thin gray shadow on the edge of thought Hiding its wounds: These are the wounds of sorrow It was my hand that made them; And this gray shadow that resembles you Is my own heart, weeping . . . You sleep quietly beneath the shade Of willows in the south. II When the cold dawn stood above the house-tops, Too late I remembered the cry In the night of a wild bird flying Through the rain-filled sky. |
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