If there really is a past
Drawn, autumn-misted, down
On all of these yesterdays'
Improbable smiled rays
This stroll, which lane back along
Fond spoke of should disclose.
Still there's some doubt; having come
Wail on wail, and so far
As for world-trust, wintered in
Sombre detail its sin.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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