Stars
Who travelling through a midnight wood
Tilts up his chin to watch the stars
Will like enough trip over roots
Or bark his shins against the knars:
But who, benighted in blind ways,
Struggles to thrust close boughs apart
Will never win from out the wood
Unless the stars are in his heart.
Tilts up his chin to watch the stars
Will like enough trip over roots
Or bark his shins against the knars:
But who, benighted in blind ways,
Struggles to thrust close boughs apart
Will never win from out the wood
Unless the stars are in his heart.
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