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lyric poetry

we were not many
she has a clear, wind-sheltered loveliness
we lay
my true love from her pillow rose
splendid and terrible your love
do you think, my boy, when i put my arms around you
if i were very sure
sweet with fern and rose
friend, whose smile has come to be
in an old chamber softly lit
i am fevered
stir

 



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