If the Red slayer think he slays,
Or if the slayed think he is slain,
They know not well the subtle ways;
I keep, and pass, and turn again.
Far or forgot to me is near;
Shadow and sunlight are the same;
The vanished gods to me appear;
And one to me are shame and fame.
They reckon ill who leave me out;
When me they fly, I am the wings;
I am the
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