
“ONCE, I KNEW A FINE SONG,
—IT IS TRUE, BELIEVE ME,—
IT WAS ALL OF BIRDS,
AND I HELD THEM IN A BASKET;
WHEN I OPENED THE WICKET,
HEAVENS! THEY ALL FLEW AWAY.
I CRIED, ’COME BACK, LITTLE THOUGHTS!’
BUT THEY ONLY LAUGHED.
THEY FLEW ON
UNTIL THEY WERE AS SAND
THROWN BETWEEN ME AND THE SKY.”
―
The Black Riders and Other Lines
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