  I let them call it just The Wind, And tell me not to grieve. But I know all it left behind, And more than they believe. I know; about the far-off lands, Where people never sleep; They hide their faces in their hands, And rock, and weep, and weep. And I too little, all alone, To go and find them yet;— But Oh, I hear!—When I am grown, I never will forget. |
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