Over Fields of Fruitless Corn

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[dropcap2 textColor=”#ffffff”]”[/dropcap2]Pale, without name or number,
In fruitless fields of corn,
They bow themselves and slumber
All night till light is born ;
And like a soul belated,
In hell and heaven unmated,
By cloud and mist abated
Comes out of darkness morn.”

– Exerpt from “The Garden of Proserpine” by Algernon Charles Swinburne
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© 2012 Loren Zemlicka
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