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datatime: 2022-12-04 06:13:10 Author:jFdAyYhy

The heavens are out in fleeces,

Who join with your lords to jar the chords of a bosom heroic, and

As though they caught a broken clue;

To see Life's formless offspring and subdue

by him shall be written,

This magic of the whirl for South.

Are they who point our pathway and sustain.

When these two meet, a point of time is ours.

Her shivering Spring feigned fast asleep,

Breaks to the scene of hosts afoot,

A City clothed in snow and soot,

swallow the passions,

Apparition is then of a monstertask, in a policy carving new

Play spectre upon eye and mouth:

We raced on roads and ice to keep

A sightless heaven, a shaven land.

Across her sky he laid his hand;

The winninger course than the rule of force, and the springs lured

This magic of the whirl for South.

He would bend tough oak, he would stiffen the reed, point Reason to

When they do meet, it is our earth inspired.

A sightless heaven, a shaven land.

To see Life's formless offspring and subdue

With lamps for day in ghostly rows,

Across her sky he laid his hand;

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