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Beside the glass smooth slippering stones of stream beds,
In the hollows where the belly of the glacier has rolled,
Where gill sides seam and furrow the rabbit-burrowed slopes of Eden
I have opened my painting box and shook out my dreams.
And in sparkled summer light,
Beneath the flight of dew-freckled curlews
I have breathed legends into the lungs of my guitar
And heard, ringing back to me,
The sculpted words of the aeolian mode.
I have been every shade of human sense here
With breaking heart and shaken faith and lies of love,
With all perfection promises of rain-washed skies
Baptised by the new risen day.
I can never set my shadow here again
Without some wing of memory
Brushing the curving sky of the world within.
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