My Poetry: An Exile

My rural city, country’d rock, whose folk
Flock, cliff, lift up, and down a glory gleaned
And foreigned, I, you welcomed, I
Have cast out. Out! It shallows, shames ear, heart,

To hear the bell-branched tower’s distance draw
Me near. Echoes yell, telling way, since eyes
Went ways, went sights, have wasted light. Where wolves
Wheel joy, wane will, and wild this troubled mind,

This rubbled rind, I creep dark woods a wretch
Still groping heart’s hearthed wildfire. That blazed girth
Grinds groans while roaming bone; calls home—calls home
Its haunt, its only want and longest longing.

But there—there, there! A lantern, wanders, waits,
And sweeps the dark, my guide, calls me. Come quickly

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