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romantic poem

daughter, thou art come to die
from floor to ceiling
when freedom from her mountain height
i saw the archangels in my apple-tree last night
within this lowly grave a conqueror lies
i made a vow once, one only
are you alive?
there was a strangeness on your lips
a few more windy days
there was never a sound beside the wood but one
but i cannot read you now
i have cast the world
why then, must we see?
we lay

 



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