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Plato of the clear, dreaming eye and brave
Imaginings, conceived, withdrawn from light,
The hollow of man's heart even as a cave.
With century-slow dropping stalactite My heart was a dripping tedious in despair.
But yesterday, awhile before I slept: I wake to find it live with maidenhair And mosses to the spiky pendants crept.
Great prodigies there are--Johovah's flood Widening the margin of the Red Sea shore,-- Great marvel when the moon is turned to blood It is to mortals, yet I marvel more At the soft rifts, the pushings at my heart, That lift the great stones of its rock apart.

by Michael Field
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