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Heedless of where the next bright bolt may fall.”
                                
                                
                                
                                
                            
                                        
                                        "The White Goddess," lines 18–22, from Poems and Satires (1951). 
Poems 
Context: But we are gifted, even in November,
Rawest of seasons, with so huge a sense
Of her nakedly worn magnificence
We forget cruelty and past betrayal,
Heedless of where the next bright bolt may fall.
                                    
 
        
     
                             
                             
                             
                             
                             
                             
                            