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A Leader

 THOUGH your eyes with tears were blind,
Pain upon the path you trod:
Well we knew, the hosts behind,
Voice and shining of a god.
For your darkness was our day: Signal fires, your pains untold Lit us on our wandering way To the mystic heart of gold.
Naught we knew of the high land, Beauty burning in its spheres; Sorrow we could understand And the mystery told in tears.

by George William Russell
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