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Bells Of Gray Crystal

 Bells of gray crystal
Break on each bough--
The swans' breath will mist all
The cold airs now.
Like tall pagodas Two people go, Trail their long codas Of talk through the snow.
Lonely are these And lonely and I .
.
.
.
The clouds, gray Chinese geese Sleek through the sky.

by Dame Edith Sitwell
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