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Imperial Library
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Preface
Now the hour bows down, it touches me, throbs
You, neighbor God, if sometimes in the night
If only there were stillness, full, complete.
I read it in your word, and learn it from
I am, you anxious one. Do you not hear me
No, my life is not this precipitous hour
If I had grown up in a land where days
In all these things I cherish as a brother
We are all workmen: prentice, journeyman,
What will you do, god, when I die?
The first word that you ever spoke was: light.
The light shouts in your tree-top, and the face
Put out my eyes, and I can see you still;
Although, as from a prison walled with hate,
You are the future, the great sunrise red
The sovereigns of the world are old
All will grow great and powerful again:
Already ripening barberries grow red,
Do not be troubled, God, though they say “mine”
Afterword
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