From far, from eve and morningAnd yon twelve-winded sky,The stuff of life to knit meBlew hither; here am I.
O my love my dear ladyThe world is not very bigThere is only room for our wonderAnd the light leaning winds of heavenAre not more sweet or pureThan your mouth on my throatO my love there are larks in our morningAnd the finding flame of your handsAnd the moss on the bank of the riverAnd the butterfliesAnd the whirling-madButterflies!Kenneth Patchen
At the dawn I seek Thee,Refuge, Rock sublime;Set my prayer before thee in the morning,And my prayer at eventime.nina salaman
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