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And though my soul, being tired of its pain,
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Of climbing Heaven, and gazing on the earth,
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And the silence will set out
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the right word,
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I don’t believe the sky is blue;
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where we live out an idea of permanence
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As kingfishers catch fire, dragonflies draw flame;
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The poems are gone.
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turn, rise toward a sky where clouds
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All beauty, resonance, integrity,