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wedding poetry

there is a city, builded by no hand
how shall i help to right the world that is going wrong
do you remember
high-born race
i have cast the world
the endless, foolish merriment of stars
i shake my hair in the wind of morning
i was a goddess ere the marble found me
in their ragged regimentals
i see all human wits
beautiful, tragical faces
be not false
there were three in the meadow by the brook

 



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