  Winds go streaming, shouting loud, At their play around the sky, And my soul is like a cloud Blown about with them on high. Like a hawk unhooded, she From my body broke away, Longing for the company Of the winds at holiday. So she scours the skiey plain, Wheeling, dipping in the blue— Hawk-soul, cloud-soul, turn again! What’s the lure to use for you? Cairo. |
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