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THE ANGELS
They all have tired mouths
And luminous, illimitable souls;
And a longing (as if for sin)
Trembles at times through their dreams.
They all resemble one another,
In God's garden they are silent
Like many, many intervals
In His mighty melody.
But when they spread their wings
They awaken the winds
That stir as though God
With His far-reaching master hands
Turned the pages of the dark book of Beginning.
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