On must we go: we search dead leaves, We chase the sunset`s saddest flames, The nameless hues that o`er and o`er In lawless wedding lost their names. God of the daybreak! Better be Black savages; and grin to gird Our limbs in gaudy rags of red, The laughing-stock of brute and bird; And feel again the fierce old feast, Blue for seven heavens that had sufficed, A gold like shining hoards, a red Like roses from the blood of Christ.SourceThe script ran 0.001 seconds.
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