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 * Between red Death and radiant Desire,
 * With clamour of delight and doubt and warning
 * The High Gods stand upon the Bridge of Fire.
 * O Soul, lay down thy pride, and cease adorning
 * Thy brows with laurel or with gold thy lyre!
 * The wheels of Time are turning, turning, turning;
 * The slow Stream waits for thee, the stagnant Mire.

The Dreamer and his Dream Shall struggle in the Stream
 * Sunless and unredeemable for ever,

Since this the Gods command, That he who leaves their land
 * Shall travel down to that relentless River.

"O Master of the World," I cry,
 * "Save me from fear of Death: I dare not die."