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318 Resurrection Now, I said, that I am done Even with sorrow— Never any more yesterday nor to-day, Never to-morrow; Now that the worm, resentment, Hath eaten my heart out wholly, I will stretch out in its empty husk, I solely, Uncompanioned by grief or hope or wonder, Knowing life only as the word Death pronounces, Crushing its dry husk under. Here in my eyeless void, Emptied even of my pulse’s stirring, Darkling I heard Earth’s timeless axles whirring, From seas unreckoned The foam-slavered sea pack Yelp on the moon’s cold traces; Low in their places, I that was done with wonder Heard the unhurrying grasses Lisping their leaves asunder. Editor’s Notes Atlantic Monthly, April 1928, 529; Literary Digest, April 14, 1928, 32. ...

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