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Colors of Life: Poems and Songs and Sonnets by Max Eastman
BORNE on the low lake wind there floats to me,
Out of the distant hill, a sigh of bells,
Mystic, worshipful, almost unheard,
As though the past should answer me, and I
In pagan solitude bow down my head.
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     ---, JB, ---, Anna Vigue and ---
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