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If I suffer not my brother also to be himself

I have rent the rich scarfs, embroidered by the fingers of

the stars, And have invaded the cloisters of the ages in vain.

I will not shroud my soul in black despair

And wail piteously because I must stand alone

Before the doors of Oblivion,

And enter reluctantly, without guide and without

companion. Why should I whine, like a lost dog, separated from its

master? I know that I, too, am a sentinel imperious as Orion, And set upon my celestial watch. I can send my thought out to the Pleiades And feel the breath of Arcturus. I am a sentinel, heavy with obligation to the dead; and

those to come. Pacing the star-built battlements of Eternity. I will be honorably relieved from my guard When the burden of the night is heavy And the Morning Star pales in the East.

I know, for my allotted moment, I have been loosed

Beneath the dome of an everylasting temple.

I know there is joy everywhere, even as a clear spring

hides amid the ferns of the forest. Or a dew-drop in the bell of the hyacinth ; Or a sparkling fountain which jets To the sonorous bass of the city. I know that the slow-moving streams Which press through the streets of the cities Ought to sing their cantata of joy. As well as the brooks which warble past The knees of the great fir trees.

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