Tuesday, September 21, 2010

At the Coast of Snow

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Oxen of the Sun 402

The kind empire, unhappy, forgets
Its virtue and freely couples with angels
What noble habit acquires its enemies so persistently?
Oblivious to feelings we admit our alien daughters
To the art of respect
This low and notorious society gone
These habits, fallow
We come to find our nearer enemy forgotten
We come to join in the title of laughter
Did we not rise up in this distant moment?
Did we not gaze without scruple at the notorious gospel of nature?
Unhappy, indignant, we seize the feathers of the deluder.

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