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COMRADE! Comrade! Pinetrees, have you seen my Comrade? Have ye seen him, gentle beeches? In and out the lonely woodland Still I follow, still he flies.

Wherefore fly Heart of hearts? Ah, Face of faces, Wherefore wilt thou hide? Yet, hidden, Look upon my face—it withers, And my heart it dies, for thee!

The brown bracken Droops; the bark falls off the branches; Crush the moss, my feet! For crushen, Cast-off, dead, I wander; unsought, Undesir’d, not recognised!