His body gleams amid eternal snows,
His tears fall from the skies.
I see his face in every flower;
The thunder and the singing of the birds
Are but his voice—and carven by his power
Rocks are his written words.
All pathways by his feet are worn,
His strong heart stirs the ever-beating sea,
His crown of thorns is twined with every thorn,
His cross is every tree.
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Behold! a white Hawk tangled in a twisted net of dreams
Seeing herself within the mystic circle of my voice,Whereat forthwith its music turns to blades and tongues of fireRending the bonds and weaving round the Hawk a skein of lightRaising the work and the Toiler to the never-ending Day.
I am a wave of the sea
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Rougher than Death the road I choose
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This heritage to the race of kings
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