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His gaze, going past those bars, has got so misted |
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with tiredness, it can take in nothing more. |
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He feels as though a thousand bars existed, |
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and no more world beyond them than before. |
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Those supply powerful paddings, turning there |
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in tiniest circles, well might be |
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the dance of forces round a centre where |
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some mighty will stands paralyticly. |
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Just now and then the pupils' noiseless shutter |
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is lifted. - Then an image will indart, |
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down through the limbs' intensive stillness flutter, |
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and end its being in the heart. |