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From Far, from Eve


From far, from eve and morning

     And yon twelve-winded sky,

The stuff of life to knit me

     Blew hither: here am I.


Now—for a breath I tarry

     Nor yet disperse apart—

Take my hand quick and tell me,

     What have you in your heart.


Speak now, and I will answer;

     How shall I help you, say;

Ere to the wind's twelve quarters

     I take my endless way.

A.E. Housman




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