The panes flash, tremble with your ghostly passage
Through them, an x-ray sheerness billowing, and I have risen
But cannot speak, remembering only that one was meant
To rise and not to speak. Young storm, this house is yours
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Superb! ! ! Deep in what still reflects control itself and me. Daybreak's great gray rust-veined irises humble and proud Along your path will have laid their foreheads in the dust.