compassion - michael tippett lyrics
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she in the hurling night
with lucid simple hands
stroked away his fright
loosed his blood*soaked bands
and seriously aware
of the terror she caressed
drew his matted hair
gladly to her breast
and he who babbled death
shivered and grew still
in the meadows of her breath
restoring his dark will
nor did she ever stir
in the storm’s calm centre
to feel the tail, hooves, fur
of the god*faced centaur
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