III
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ou understand my thoughts; though, when you think,You're out beyond the boundaries of my brain.I'm but a bird at dawn that cries, 'chink, chink'--A garden-bird that warbles in the rain.And you're the flying-man, the speck that steersA careful course; far down the verge of day,Half-way across the world. Above the yearsYou soar ... Is death so bad? ... I wish you'd say.
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