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THE LAST OF THE FOREST
Hast thou not heard, O White Man, through a troubled dreaming On some still night when all the world lay stark, Sharp through the silence, moaning of the sea, and screaming Of night-birds in the dark?
Hast thou not said, O White Man, shivering when the shrieking Wild voices thrilled thee in a mystery of pain: “Peace! ’tis the Ocean calling! ’tis the Dead Tree creaking! Hush thee, my heart, again!”
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