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Hilaire Belloc - JanuaryHilaire Belloc - January
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It freezes- all across a soundless sky The birds go home.  The governing dark`s begun: The steadfast dark that waits not for a sun; The ultimate dark wherein the race shall die. Death, with his evil finger to his lip, Leers in at human windows, turning spy To learn the country where his rule shall lie When he assumes perpetual generalship. The undefeated enemy, the chill That shall benumb the voiceful earth at last, Is master of our moment, and has bound The viewless wind it-self.  There is no sound. It freezes.  Every friendly stream is fast. It freezes; and the graven twigs are still.
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