[from Collected Works, T.E.Brown]


THERE is a place where He hath split the hills;
No water fills
The gap— A bow-shot wide
Side stands to side,
Indenture perfectly opposed,
The outlet closed
By seeming overlap—
So severed are our hearts, so rent our wills;
And yet the old correlatives remain—
Ah ! brother, may we not be joined again?


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