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THE DREAM ABOUT OUR MASTER, WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE This midnight dream whispered to me: Be s'loift as a runner, take the lane Into the green mystery Beyond the farm and haystack at Stone. You leave tomorrow, not to return. Hands that were fastened in a vise, A useless body, rooted feet, While time like a bell thundered the loss, Witnessed the closing of the gate. Thus sleep and waking both betrayed. I had one glimpse: In a close of shadow There rose the form of a manor-house, And in a corner a curtained window. All was lost in a well of trees, Yet I knew for certain this was the place. If the hound of air, the ropes of shade, And the gate between that is no gate, Had not so held me and delayed These cowardly limbs of bone and blood, I would have met him as he lived! [4] ...

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