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of sun nor stars
we were not many
rising moon has hid the stars
she limps with halting painful pace
uplifting, as the wind blew
have you not heard
by the rude bridge
with her hair flaying wildly
in the cloud-gray mornings
when, full of warm and eager love
perhaps
i love my hour of wind and light
white foam flower, red flame flower
all those treasures that lie

 



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