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 ON me to rest, my bird, my bird:
 The swaying branches of my heart
Are blown by every wind toward
 The home whereto their wings depart.
Build not your nest, my bird, on me; I know no peace but ever sway: O lovely bird, be free, be free, On the wild music of the day.
But sometimes when your wings would rest, And winds are laid on quiet eves: Come, I will bear you breast to breast, And lap you close with loving leaves.

by George William Russell
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