Rise above
Light of the mournful hill
Fell on the dark forgotten snow.
The wind was all I loved to know.
Almost it was a precious spot,
Where before it closed.
Almost it could not be open.
I had the bird but building,
Who'd climb it with my hand.
Young I came with the old white leaf
Slumbering in my icy bloom.
The day I lie so cold
Sleeping, as a tree rests.

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Rise


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