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illion generations sang, So in her breast the old alarum rang, So the old sorrowfulness in her thought Renewed, and apprehensions all untaught; As if indeed a creature primitive Still did she in the world's dim morning live, That wanted human warmth and gentleness To make its solitude a little less. Kindness gave solitude the lovely light She loved, and made less terrible black midnight. Even as a bird its unlearned music pours Though windows all be blind and shut the doors, And sings on still though no faint sound be heard But wind and leaves and another lonely bird: So poured she untaught kindness all around And in that human music comfort found-- Music her own and music heard from others, Prime music of all lovers, children, mothers, Precarious music between all men sounding, The horror of silent and dark Powers confounding. Singing that music she could bravely live; Hearing it, find less sorrow to forgive. THE CANDLE Time like a cloud Has risen from the East And whelmed the sky over Even to the wide-arched West, Darkening the blue, Embrowning the early gold, Until no more the eternal Sun Looks simply through. In each man's eyes The cloud is set, With but the chill light Of silver January skies. On each man's heart Time's firm shadow falls, And the mind throws but a candle's beam On the dark walls. But on those walls Man paints his dream Rejoicing purely In the faithful candle's beam: Lives by its beauty, Pictures his heart's delight, And with that only beam outbraves Time's gathering night. O spiritual flame, Calm, faithful, bright! Time may whelm over All but this candle's light: Shadow but shadow is; Dark though it lies 'Tis blazon'd with man's long-dreamed dreams, Pierced by his eyes. OLD FIRES The fire burns low Where it has burned ages ago, Sinks and sighs As it has done to a hundred eyes Staring, staring At the last cold smokeless glow. Here men sat Lonely and watched the golden grate Turn at length black; Heard the cooling iron crack: Shadows, shadows, Watching the shadows come and go. And still the hiss I hear, the soft fire's sob and kiss, And still it burns And the bright gold to crimson turns, Sinking, sinking, And the fire shadows larger grow. O dark-cheeked fire, Wasting like spent heart's desire, You that were gold, And now crimson will soon be cold-- Cold, cold, Like moon-shadows on new snow. Shadows all, They that
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