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Death by Victor Daley P1of2 The awful seers of old who
wrote, in words Like drops of blood, great thoughts that through
the night Of ages burn, as eyes of lions light Deep
jungle-dusks; who smote with songs like swords The soul of man
on its most secret chords, & made the heart of him a harp 2
smite-- Where are they? Where that old man lorn of sight,
The king of song among these laurelled lords?
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