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A poem by John Collings Squire |
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The Fugitive |
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Title: The Fugitive Author: John Collings Squire [More Titles by Squire] Flying his hair and his eyes averse, High on a down we found him last, How could we cling to his limbs that shone, For the wind of his feet still straightly shaping, And his feet passed over the sunset land Vanishing now who would not stay [The end] GO TO TOP OF SCREEN |