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wane on the pale air. Till down the traitorous east there came the night, And swept the circle of my seeing bare. Its intimate beauty like a wanton's veil Tore from the void as from an empty face. I felt at being's rim all being fail, And my one body pitted against space. O heart more frightened than a wild bird's wings, Beating at green, now is no fiery mark Left on the quiet nothingness of things. Be self no more against the flooding dark: There thousandwise sown in that cloudy blot Stars that are worlds look out and see you not. Lonie Adams