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The lonesome for they know not What

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The lonesome for they know not What-
The Eastern Exiles-be-
Who strayed beyond the Amber line
Some madder Holiday-

And ever since-the purple Moat
They strive to climb-in vain-
As Birds-that tumble from the clouds
Do fumble at the strain-

The Blessed Ether-taught them-
Some Transatlantic Morn-
When Heaven-was too common-to miss-
Too sure-to dote upon!

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