these are lost days: what once was new is cold,
washed far beyond what grasping hands may reach,
through turn and tide of Time’s unstopping bleach,
a faraway the way of which is now too old;
these are lost rays: the suns were once more bold,
less timid than the moons that only leach
the blood from virgins ripening like a peach,
and light once fell on truths now left untold;
that mornings used to mingle with the skies
we now can never know; how in the cries
of curious infants we may never find
the kind of power scent that struck men dumb,
nor in the chilly biting winds to numb
our hearts and learn to see while we are blind


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