The bastion palm
Yes
How many nights
Awake
It loitered there
Suffering
The blasts of the
Chill wind
The insults of the
Pattering rain-drops
The comfort
Of the night-dews.
You
Experience
For
You suffer
That suffering
Has thickened
Your trunk of age
Already thick
And loaded
With the strength
Of the life saps
You dream as
Wise kings dream
And wake as Artists
Do
In time for seeing
The Beauty of the Dawn
More than I see.
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