The Pool
Are you alive?
I touch you.
You quiver like a sea-fish.
I cover you with my net.
What are you—banded one?
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Light takes new attribute
and yet his old
glory
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not this,
not this, they say,
lord as he was of the hieratic dance,
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and pomp,
master of shrines and gateways
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We flung against their gods,
invincible, clear hate;
we fought;
frantic, we flung the last
imperious, desperate shaft
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