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The Book of Odes, by L. Cranmer-Byng, [1908], at

p. 56


He stabs me with a scornful smile.
Winds are wailing at the door.
Scornful words and whispers vile,
Ye have thrust me to the core.

Whirling dust the northwind blows.
Surely he will seek his mate!
But he neither comes nor goes,
Through the long dumb hours that wait.

Blew the wind and veiled the sky;
One hour's gleam, then clouds again.
Sleep went trailing softly by,
Left me to the old dull pain.

Clouds across the darkness sweep,
Thunder rolls its monotone.
Who shall put my heart to sleep?
Heart that aches, and aches alone.

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