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love poetry

my true love from her pillow rose
i love my life, but not too well
there is no flock, however watched and tended
rocked in the cradle of the deep
i despise my friends more than you
out of me unworthy and unknown
and breaketh bread no more
arched the flood
there was never a sound beside the wood but one
the endless, foolish merriment of stars
the air is full of dawn and spring
are you awake?
with the meek, brown eyes

 



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