< Page:Collected poems vol 1 de la mare.djvu
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THE MARIONETTES
Yet heaven hath its quiet shroud
Of deep, immutable blue —
We cry "An end!" We are bowed
By the dread, "'Tis true!"
While the Shape who hoofs applause
Behind our deafened ear,
Hoots — angel-wise — "the Cause!"
And affright even fear.
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