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A Cliff Dwelling

There sandy seems the golden

And golden seems the sandy plain.

No habitation meets the

Unless in the horizon rim,

Some halfway up the limestone wall,

That spot of black is not a

Or shadow, but a cavern hole,

Where someone used to climb and

To rest from his besetting fears.

I see the callus on his

The disappearing last of

And of his race starvation slim,

Oh years ago - ten thousand years.

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Robert Frost

Robert Lee Frost (March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963) was an American poet. His work was initially published in England before it was published i…
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