(A BAREFOOT CHILD BY -- CASTLE)
SHE felt, I think, but as a wild-flower can,
Through her bright fluttering rags, the dark, the cold.
Some farthest star, remembering what man
Forgets, had warmed her little head with gold.
Above her, hollow-eyed, long blind to tears,
Leaf-cloaked, a skeleton of stone arose....
O castle-shadow of a thousand years,
Where you have fallen -- is this the thing that grows?
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