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Can do this thing,
Although they barricade the stars!
Summer is leaving these high places.
***
Traveler, if you would go,
Go now:
Follow the breathless gray-lipped stream,
The bony finger of the bough,
Follow the fading falling road,
Forget the whole green episode;
Go now.

Go now if you would go;
That is a different denser snow
Along the black cliffs of the sky,
And down the hills
Their harvest spills
Its slanting squares of wheat and rye;
But overhead
Something is stricken
In the air
That will not quicken.

If you would not see hill-sides die,
Stripped bare
And brown,
With stormy wreaths on the indomitable brow
That wears this hour like a crown,
Go now!
***

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