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i saw the archangels in my apple-tree last night
is there anybody there
let us express our baser passions
out of me unworthy and unknown
the darkness steals the forms of all the queens
do you think, my boy, when i put my arms around you
when i looked into your eyes
when i returned at sunset
i have seen the proudest stars
the dawn was apple-green
there were three in the meadow by the brook
hang no wreath
the mountains they are silent folk

 



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