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autumn poetry

afraid no more, i say
i am dying
before the solemn bronze saint
death's nobility again
will you glimmer on the sea?
bring me soft song
could we but know
my mother twines me roses wet with dew
like him whose spirit in the blaze of noon
did you ever hear of
she heard the children playing in the sun
old wine to drink
but i cannot read you now
at midnight

 



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