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1873–1941

III

Lola Ridge

The ore leaping in the crucibles, The ore communicant, Sending faint thrills along the leads... Fire is running along the roots of the mountains...

I feel the long recoil of earth As under a mighty quickening... ( Dawn is aglow in the light of the Iron...) All palpitant, I wait...

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III · Lola Ridge · Poetry Cove