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Now I will burn you back, I will burn you through, Though I am damned for it we two will lie And burn, here where the starlings fly
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Because all night you have not turned to us or spoken It is time for you to wake;
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Religion is like music, one must have an ear for it. Some people have none at all.
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You were sunrise to me rise and warm and streaming.' - Praise Song For My Mother by Charlotte Mew
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This is only a most piteous pretense of sleep!
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Before I die I want to see the world that lies behind the strangeness of your eyes
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There is something horrible about a flower; This, broken in my hand, is one of those He threw it in just now; it will not live another hour; There are thousands more; you do not miss a rose.
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People are only 'disappointing' when one makes a wrong diagnosis.
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You were moon's eye to me pull and grained and mantling' - Praise Song For My Mother by Charlotte Mew
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We are what we are, the spirit afterwards, but first the touch.
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But still it was a lovely thing Through the grey months to wait for Spring
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You were water to me deep and bold and fathoming' - Praise Song For My Mother by Charlotte Mew