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FLOWERS IN THE EAST WIND.
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How can you tell what grace
With a young thing dies ?
What the world may lose while the doctors choose
Which way the danger lies ?
Slowly, with heavy feet,
Do the great ones go ;
While they try the right, and obey dull might,
Doing not what they know.
Pitiful, human, sweet,
Oh little children's eyes !
With the marks of weeping, and lack of sleeping —
Woe for us when ye rise.
