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type of poetry

city that is not a city
high-born race
still her gray rocks tower above the sea
stuff of the moon
what spiteful chance steals unawares
are you awake?
the sky
a blue-black nubian plucking oranges
shines the last age, the next with hope is seen
soft as the bed in the earth
out of me unworthy and unknown
now for a brisk and cheerful fight
look out upon the stars, my love
i hold your heart

 



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