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 Borrow the mountain's strength

As now its loneliness,

Hurl back this menace on itself,

Crush bronze with bronze—

Why, it would be as if some tall slim god,

Unburdened of his age-long apathy,

Took in his hand the thin horn of the moon

And set it to his lips

And blew sharp wild shrill notes

Such as our hearts, our lonely hearts,

Have yearned for in the dumb bleak silences.

Ah! Weak as wax against their bronze are we,

Ah! Faint as reed-pipes by the water's roar,

And driven as land-birds by the vast sea wind.