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sorry poem

see, from this counterfeit of him
i know not where
my sorrow, when she's here with me
under dusky laurel leaf
i made a vow once, one only
gaily through the fields we danced
when the veil from the eyes is lifted
just now
up from the meadows rich with corn
fat black bucks in a wine-barrel room
the arches of the red bridge
against the green flame of the hawthorn-tree
good woman

 



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