Listen ... With faint dry sound, Like steps of passing ghosts, The leaves, frost-crisp'd, break free from the trees And fall.
Sun and wind and beat of sea,
Great lands stretching endlessly...
Where be bonds to bind the free?
All the world was made for me!
These be Three silent things: The Falling snow. . . the hour Before the dawn. . . the mouth of one Just dead.
My object to venture the suggestion that an important application of phonetics to metrical problems lies in the study of phonetic word-structure.
The oldOld winds that blewWhen chaos was, what doThey tell the clattered trees that IShould weep?
I knowNot these my handsAnd yet I think there wasA woman like me once had handsLike these.
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