  WHO goes to meet the windy night With unseen comrades shouting by, Who grips a bough in swift delight To let it dip and loose and fly; Who runs for rest that running gives, Runs till his throbbing muscles speak; Who bends to feel how keenly lives The joyous grass beneath his cheek— With sudden tears his eyes shall fill, With quick-drawn breath he sees them plain— Those bodies that must lie so still, So tired—in the House of Pain. |
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