Parading

Speak of the world’s own change. Though we cannot conceive

Of an undreamt thing, we know to our cost
Of an undreamt thing, we know to our cost
How the dreamt cloud crumbles, the vines are blackened by frost,
How the dreamt cloud crumbles, the vines are blackened by frost,
How the view alters. We could believe, —Richard Wilbur
How the view alters. We could believe,
—Richard Wilbur

atoms

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