By J.V Cunningham

Out of my birth
The magi chant my worth
They make the influence
Of hour and day; they weigh what thence

Must come to me.
I in their old sky see
No Venus and no Mars:
Is it the past that cast the stars

That guide me now.
In winter, when the bough
Has lost in leaves, the storm
That piled them deep will keep them warm

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