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Not my death, nor yours only ; He reaps the death of the Race.

TRUTH: The falsities of Man are poisoning the River of Life Under the Cliffs of Eternity.

POET: Shall I sing of the Morning While the daughters of the day are sick? Shall I celebrate the defeat of Night While these hide before the pageant of Day? I cannot sing of the Morning

While the daughters of the day shut out the light. I cannot sing of Love While the keepers of Love's house Sell Love upon the street.

TRUTH: Nay, Love is unsaleable, omnipotent.

None can control him. He is his own master. Going and coming as he please.

POET: Shall I say, "Behold the torch of Day has lit the Earth." When they who hold the torch of Life are set to illumine

Hell? Shall I delight in the limitless arch. Which is divinely hung with worlds, When the mothers of worlds, divine as stars, blaspheme

the Night?

TRUTH: Night, kind nurse to weariness. Which delicately draws her draperies about us With caressing fingers, and drops from her pitying lips Kisses for those who weep. The cool, caressing night; Large, absorbing ; sheltering and benignant ;

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