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There must be some touch will hold me here- 'Till I am sharp to wild laws And full of weather. One does not think, one knows: Feeling is a field swept of trees, And a hawk edged for prey.
Physioc © 1983. |
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There must be some touch will hold me here- 'Till I am sharp to wild laws And full of weather. One does not think, one knows: Feeling is a field swept of trees, And a hawk edged for prey.
Physioc © 1983. |
|