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math poem

the fragrance came
be not angry with me
see i give myself to you
this is the arsenal
earth travails
if the red slayer think he slays
a very remarkable history this is
the poets tell
i stood by the open casement
i am weary of being bitter and weary of being wise
a sky that has never known sun, moon or stars
i saw him once before
against the green flame of the hawthorn-tree

 



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