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friend poem

be not angry with me
daughter, thou art come to die
when the wind works against us in the dark
melancholy, blue it was
the arches of the red bridge
brief on a flying night
we were not many
how wild, how witch-like weird that life should be
let us express our baser passions
we lay
dark-eyed
no prey am i of poor thoughts
let us pity those who are better off than we are

 



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