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Winter Is Another Country

If the autumn would End! If the sweet season, The late light in the tall

trees would End! If the fragrence, the

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odor of Fallen apples, dust on the

road, Water somewhere near, the

scent of Water touching me; if this

would end I could endure the absence

in the night, The hands beyond the reach

of hands, the name Called out and never an

swered with my name: The image never seen with

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sight. I could endure this all If autumn ended and the

cold light came.

Archibald MacLeish, `Actfive,' 1948