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THE DANANN children laugh, in cradles of wrought gold,   

And clap their hands together, and half close their eyes,   

For they will ride the North when the ger-eagle flies,   

With heavy whitening wings, and a heart fallen cold:   

I kiss my wailing child and press it to my breast,          

And hear the narrow graves calling my child and me.   

Desolate winds that cry over the wandering sea;   

Desolate winds that hover in the flaming West;   

Desolate winds that beat the doors of Heaven, and beat   

The doors of Hell and blow there many a whimpering ghost;   

O heart the winds have shaken; the unappeasable host   

Is comelier than candles before Maurya’s feet.   

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