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in the darkness of the night, Gathering in silence on the shore, Wild geese flown from hiding on the hills (Hark! the wolf-hound; thrice he howled before), Wild geese with forest leaves tangled in their hair. Is that blood on the heaving breasts of some. Or dull red clay from fox-deserted lair? Why thus so stealthy do they come? Wild geese, women’s arms round you in the darkness; Women’s hearts forbid to cry though they break; Little children must not sob in their kissing; ‘Brother, forever? O hush thee, for God’s sake!’ Wild geese with fierce eyes, deathless hope in your hearts. Stretching your strong white wings eager for your flight. These women’s eyes will watch your swift returning. (Thrice the banshee cried in the stormy night.)