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birds against the april wind
once this soft turf
how wild, how witch-like weird that life should be
shadows lay along broadway
sun and wind and beat of sea
in the cloud-gray mornings
in september
now for a brisk and cheerful fight
lo! 'tis a gala night
white foam flower, red flame flower
the long resounding marble corridors
and how could you dream of meeting
her face is fair and smooth and fine
wheel me down by the meadow

 



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