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dark poetry

world that changes under my hand
the ships are lying in the bay
shades of night were falling fast
i hold your heart
there are three ways in which men take
arched the flood
be not angry with me
now for a brisk and cheerful fight
pharaoh, king of egypt's land
were it not for that singular smell
it was a tall young oysterman
fat black bucks in a wine-barrel room
we break the glass whose sacred wine

 



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