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THE GATES OF LIFE
HELD in the bosom of night, large to the limits of wonder, Close where the refluent seas wrinkle the wandering sands, Where, with a tenderness torn from the secrets of sorrow, and under The pale pure spaces of night felt like ineffable hands, The weak strange pressure of winds moved with the moving of waters,Vast with their solitude, sad with their silences, strange with their sound, Comes like a sigh from the sleep of the realmless Olympian daughters, Widowed of worship by time, at the feet of their father uncrowned.
Held in the bosom of night, with the wind in my face, and the ocean Stirred thro' its tremulous deeps with the unfulfilled dawning of moon,