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Stephen Crane

I looked here;

I looked there;

Nowhere could I see my love.

And--this time--

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noun

(usually a mass noun) Lodging in a dwelling or similar living quarters afforded to travellers in hotels or on cruise ships, or prisoners, etc.

Writers often choose accommodation when discussing complex ideas.

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I WILL SING YOU ONE-O

79 lines
Robert Frost·1874–1963
t was long I layAwake that nightWishing the towerWould name the hourAnd tell me whetherTo call it day(Though not yet light)And give up sleep.The snow fell deepWith the hiss of spray;Two winds would meet,One down one street,One down another,And fight in a smotherOf dust and feather.I could not say,But feared the coldHad checked the paceOf the tower clockBy tying togetherIts hands of goldBefore its face. Then came one knock!A note unruffledOf earthly weather,Though strange and muffled.The tower said, "One!"And then a steeple.They spoke to themselvesAnd such few peopleAs winds might rouseFrom sleeping warm(But not unhouse).They left the stormThat struck _en masse_My window glassLike a beaded fur.In that grave OneThey spoke of the sunAnd moon and stars,Saturn and MarsAnd Jupiter.Still more unfettered,They left the namedAnd spoke of the lettered,The sigmas and tausOf constellations.They filled their throatsWith the furthest bodiesTo which man sends hisSpeculation,Beyond which God is;The cosmic motesOf yawning lenses.Their solemn pealsWere not their own:They spoke for the clockWith whose vast wheelsTheirs interlock. In that grave wordUttered aloneThe utmost starTrembled and stirred,Though set so farIts whirling frenziesAppear like standingIn one self station.It has not ranged,And save for the wonderOf once expandingTo be a nova,It has not changedTo the eye of manOn planets overAround and underIt in creationSince man beganTo drag down manAnd nation nation.