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Imagination.
by Margaret Steele AndersonWith the old gods thou walkest, 'mid the leaf
And bloom of ancient morning and of light;
Thou die'st with Christ, and with the nailed thief
That dies upon his left hand and his right.
Yea, thou descendest into hell, and then
To the last heaven dost take thy road sublime;
Thine hostelries the secret souls of men,
Thy servants all the fleeting things of time!