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A stranger died for me,
Groaned and dropped and died somewhere -
His fire quenched utterly
In a shrivelling air.
And how shall I requite
His wounds, his death, who dies unknown
And keeps my feeble flame alight
With ransom of his own?
All life, all love's his fee
Whose perished fire conserves his spark,
Who bought the brightening day for me
And for himself, the dark.
by
Rachel Bates
