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in your flight
look out upon the stars, my love
under dusky laurel leaf
were it not for that singular smell
their beautiful hair
the mountains they are silent folk
winged shadows sweeping by
all quiet along the potomac
i love the old melodious lays
how like the stars are these white, nameless faces
tell me
to what shall a woman liken her beloved
while i stood listening, discreetly dumb
when i was broke in london

 



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