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Isaac Rosenberg - Through These Pale Cold Days
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Through these pale cold days
     What dark faces burn
     Out of three thousand years,
     And their wild eyes yearn,

     While underneath their brows
     Like waifs their spirits grope
     For the pools of Hebron again—
     For Lebanon`s summer slope.

     They leave these blond still days
   In dust behind their tread
   They see with living eyes
   How long they have been dead.
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