Split, brown-blue clouds are over me,
And brown-blue mist is also
Over the little hills of my sprawling moods
And under the pale blue revery of my soul. . . .
Split, brown-blue clouds are over me,
And brown-blue mist is also
Over the little hills of my sprawling moods
And under the pale blue revery of my soul. . . .
Yet the hills are covered with shouting goat-herds
To whom the mist and revery is nothing.
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