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My life is made of five long nights
And five swift days, like birds whose flights


Have taken them to where the earth
Below them, is a small, strange thing
Of very little worth.


My life is made of five bright days
And five kind nights. I heard you praise


My beauty, in your faint, hushed tone
That no one else has ever heard.
And this is all I own.


Five nights and five strange days, and then
You died to save your fellow-men.


I never lived until I saw
Within your eyes that thirst and awe.


And I shall never live again.