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def poetry

within this lowly grave a conqueror lies
brief on a flying night
i am the wind that wavers
though i am little as all little things
the old west, the old time
to clothe the fiery thought
dear wife
this ancient silver bowl of mine
green afternoon serene and bright
the shadows of the ships
be not angry with me
it is true that you say the gods are more use to you than fairies
i am in love with high far-seeing places

 



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