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modern poetry

he speaks not well
we who stood
i am in love with high far-seeing places
i know not where
if i had known how narrow a prison is love
no prey am i of poor thoughts
the smell of the rose so false, the thorns so true
the poets tell
along the banks
they in the darkness gather and ask
do you remember
had he and i but met
my soul is a dark ploughed field

 



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