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romantic poetry

one by one, like leaves from a tree
there is no flock, however watched and tended
for truth, for love
never in all my life
as evening falls
daughters of time
this ancient silver bowl of mine
i have seen the proudest stars
love me at last, or if you will not
what spiteful chance steals unawares
the pale day drowses on the western steep
do the boys and girls still go

 



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