[from Collected Works, T.E.Brown]
WHEN all the sky is pure
My soul takes flight,
Serene and sure,
Upwardtill at the height
She weighs her wings,
And sings.
But when the heaven is black,
And west-winds sigh,
Beat back, beat back,
She has no strength to try
The drifting rain
Again.
So cheaply baffled ! see!
The field is bare
Behold a tree
Ist not enough ? Sit there,
Thou foolish thing,
And sing!
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Any comments, errors or omissions
gratefully received The
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