And hurls their martyred music toppling down.
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et, though the slain are homeless as the breeze,Vocal are they, like storm-bewilder’d seas.Their faces are the fair, unshrouded night, And planets are their eyes, their ageless dreams.Tenderly stooping earthward from their height,They wander in the dusk with chanting streams;And they are dawn-lit trees, with arms up-flung,To hail the burning heavens they left unsung. 15
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