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AT THE WHEEL, by                    
First Line: She holds my lost illusions in her hands
Last Line: Untouched she turns the wheel. She has not heard.
Subject(s): Death; Faith; Soul; Wheels; Dead, The; Belief; Creed


She holds my lost illusions in her hands,
And all the hours of vain tenderness,
The wasted faiths, the prides of brave address --
She gives me back my title and my lands.
There are two voices when I speak to her;
The words are cool and ordered in their spell,
Put my soul hears the muted syllable
Large with the mutiny it may not stir.
There is so little that she keeps from me,
Only herself? And who may touch the Queen?
I wait her coming obediently serene,
With one petition for my loyalty,
That she will make with Death a royal third.
Untouched she turns the wheel. She has not heard.





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