To W.B.Yeats
Israel nods the indiscrete pause, mediated,
But what has its roots the wonderful prose
That sated for excess has horizon and guest
Adjoined three planets in orbit of fateds
To eat the mouthfuls manna indicated so
What can repair the road to oblivion so
And happily determine an aura of Zion
The disposed and reposed is harlequin
Love for the matter of which we are born
Taking to the ton what stone is refrained
Mercy and to pain whereas the redoubt
Has made no motion outwardly or torn
All holiness is born though in figure pore
The trickle of androgynous hologram
Stunned in sight the suprising paragon
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