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The Horses I climbed through woods in the hour-before-dawn dark. Evil air, a frost-making stillness, Not a leaf, not a bird - A world cast in frost. I came out above the wood Where my breath left tortuous statues in the iron light. But the valleys were draining the darkness Till the moorline - blackening dregs of the brightening grey - Halved the sky ahead. And I saw the horses: Hu