His last exile, like the first,
Heard cries of grief on every side; His lovers feared to lose Him, And many men and women cried. The ship that carried God’s own Voice, Blessed beyond all vessels gone, Made a cross, of its choice, To bring each wailing soul to song. Though song from such a primal past, Is buried beneath these feeble letters, It’s agony beyond our paradise lost, And beauty blinding peacock feathers .
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