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4
3
2
1
While all about it Wind shadows
A gaze blank and
When a vast image
The blood-dimme
d tide is loosed
And everywhere the ceremony
out of Spiritus Mundi
of innocence is drowned
The best lack all conviction
pitiless as the sun
Troubles my sight
while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity
a waste of desert sand
Surely some
revelation is at hand
