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Tho' I am very old and wise, And you are neither wise nor old, When I look far into your eyes, I know things I was never told: I know how flame must strain and fret Prisoned in a mortal net; How joy with over-eager wings, Bruises the small heart where he sings; How too much life, like too much gold, Is sometimes very hard to hold . . . All that is talking—but I know This much is true, six years ago An angel living near the moon Walked thru the sky and sang a tune Plucking stars to make his crown— And suddenly two stars fell down, Two falling arrows made of light. Six years ago this very night I saw them fall and wondered why The angel dropped them from the sky— But when I saw your eyes I knew The angel sent the stars to you. |