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Harps Hung up in Babylon

ONE HOUR

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The sun shall go darkly his way, the skies

Be lampless of stars, and the moon with sighs

Of her years complain,

And you and I in the waste shall meet

Of a downward gulf with hurrying feet,

And remember then

Only this shy, encircled place,

Only this hour's dimpled grace—

And smile again.

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