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A SHEAF GLEANED
Twinkling bright their eyes of jet,
Clapping wings in brotherhood,
Twitter thus, the swallows met
When the rust is on the wood.
All they say I understand,
For the poet is a bird,
Captive, broken-winged, and banned,
Struggling still, though oft unheard.
Oh! For wings, for wings, for wings!
As sings Ruckert in his song,
To fly with the birds and the springs
Wherever the sun shines long.
