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J. Drinkwater

J. Drinkwater

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The Quest

Broken and bruised, poor bird in the gale,Tossed on the rage of the merciless wind,Thou art so tenderly fashioned, so frail,—Whither art bound in a sky so unkind? Away o'er the moorlands, under a pine,Swings a small nest that is downy and warm,Fledglings are waiting me—fledglings of mine,Little I care…
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The Guide (Poem)

Still was the night, and clear the moonLay crescent in a velvet sky;But not for me that drowsy peace,The silent midnight harmony,For many days my spirit blindHad sought a guide, but none could find. There lay before me divers paths,But each soon wound away from sight;Long time I questioned passers-byWhich…
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