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graduation poem

melancholy, blue it was
listen to the sounding sea
a pen of steel
backward, turn backward
desolate and lone
which i wish to remark
often is it not so?
i went up and down the streets
do not grieve that it is over
high-born race
all quiet along the potomac
just now
when the hours of day are numbered
i saw the clouds among the hills

 



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