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by Amos Russel Wells

Blind! Dear sun, I dreamed that I was blind!
Dear green of grass and shining blue of sky,
That ye were one, and nothing! That my eye
Was dungeoned in with massy black, behind,
Before; that all my reaching could not find
With outstretched, sickened nerves one cord whereby
To the bright, loving world, so far, so nigh,
My strange world of blank horror I could bind.
And still the terror of it stays with me,
And in that dread the spirit bids me read
How closely I am knit to what I see,
And how the senses tyrannize my need.
O light, true light of heaven! Can it be
That my clear-seeing eyes are blind indeed?

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