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mom poem

against the green flame of the hawthorn-tree
my mother twines me roses wet with dew
thou unrelenting past
i have heard that a certain princess
made up of loveliness alone
all quiet along the potomac
softly weeping
a look is but a ray
listen to the sounding sea
days endeared to every muse
why so sad my lovely one?
burly, dozing humble-bee
i love my life, but not too well

 



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