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hang no wreath
a sky that has never known sun, moon or stars
a poet, having taken the bridle off his tongue
i am in love with high far-seeing places
when i returned at sunset
along a river-side
i know not where
over the river they beckon to me
had he and i but met
how wild, how witch-like weird that life should be
have you heard
splendid and terrible your love
do i like it

 



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