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daughter poem

let me be sad
they may talk of love in a cottage
i have heard them in the night
within my hand i hold
for i was a gaunt, grave councillor
to some the fat gods
i shake my hair in the wind of morning
though love repine, and reason chafe
look back with longing eyes and know that i will follow
i saw with open eyes
doubtless i remember still
there is no escape by the river
very well, you liberals

 



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