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Allen Tate - The ParadigmAllen Tate - The Paradigm
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For when they meet, the tensile air Like fine steel strains under the weight Of messages that both hearts bear- Pure passion once, now purest hate; Till the taut air like a cold hand Clasped to cold hand and bone to bone Seals them up in their icy land (A few square feet) where into stone The two hearts turning quickly pass Once more their impenetrable world; So fades out each heart`s looking-glass Whose image is the surface hurled By all the air; air, glass is not; So is their fleeting enmity Like a hard mirror crashed by what The quality of air must be. For in the air all lovers meet After they`ve hated out their love; Love`s but the echo of retreat Caught by the sunbeam stretched above Their frozen exile from the earth And lost. Each is the other`s crime. This is their equity in birth- Hate is its ignorant paradigm.
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