  Out of the smoke of men’s wrath, The red mist of anger, Suddenly, As a wraith of sleep, A boy’s face, white and tense, Convulsed with terror and hate, The lips trembling.... Then a red smear, falling.... I thrust aside the cloud, as it were tangible, Blinded with a mist of blood. The face cometh again As a wraith of sleep: A boy’s face delicate and blonde, The very mask of God, Broken. |
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