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stars and moon of brass, How mockingly you watch me pass! You know as well as I how soon I shall be blind to stars and moon, Deaf to the wind in the hemlock tree, Dumb when the brown earth weighs on me.

With envious dark rage I bear, Stars, your cold complacent stare; Heart-broken in my hate look up, Moon, at your clear immortal cup, Changing to gold from dusky red— Age after age when I am dead To be filled up with light, and then Emptied, to be refilled again.