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grandmother poem

she might have known it in the earlier spring
these be
it tells of good old times
in halls of sleep you wandered by
days endeared to every muse
if i had known how narrow a prison is love
my mother twines me roses wet with dew
through the broad earth's aching breast
earth travails
the shadows of the ships
all my love for my sweet
i am fevered
melancholy days have come

 



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