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lost love poem

sleep, gray brother of death
muffled drum's sad roll has beat
they ask me where i've been
leave the lovely words unsaid
before the solemn bronze saint
melancholy days have come
she must go back, she said
friend, whose smile has come to be
darkest, strangest mystery
very well, you liberals
do i like it
beautiful, tragical faces
it was a tall young oysterman
softly now the light of day

 



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