| http://www.w3.org/ns/prov#value | - The singular passionAbides its object and consumes desireIn the circling shadow of its appetite.There was a time when the young eyes were slow,Their flame steady beyond the firstling fire,I stood in the rain, far from home at nightfallBy the Potomac, the great Dome lit the water,The city my blood had built I knew no moreWhile the screech-owl whistled his new delightConsecutively dark.Stuck in the
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