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The Dancers

All day beneath the hurtling shells
Before my burning eyes
Hover the dainty demoiselles—
The peacock dragon-flies.
 
Unceasingly they dart and glance
Above the stagnant stream—
And I am fighting here in France
As in a senseless dream.
 
A dream of shattering black shells
That hurtle overhead,
And dainty dancing demoiselles
Above the dreamless dead.
Préféré par...
Autres oeuvres par Wilfrid Wilson Gibson...



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