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 Night comes, an angel stands
Measuring out the time of stars,
Still are the winds, and still the hours.
It would be peace to lie Still in the still hours at the angel's feet, Upon a star hung in a starry sky, But hearts another measure beat.
Each body, wingless as it lies, Sends out its butterfly of night With delicate wings, and jewelled eyes.
And some upon day's shores are cast, And some in darkness lost In waves beyond the world, where float Somewhere the islands of the blest.

by Kathleen Raine
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