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life poetry

music i heard with you was more than music
beneath the warrior's helm
along the banks
somewhere i read a strange, old, rusty tale
i love the old melodious lays
evidenced in the glimmer in your eyes
i do not pray for peace
there was never a sound beside the wood but one
i saw the archangels in my apple-tree last night
i made a vow once, one only
be not angry with me
with the meek, brown eyes
which keeps
in an old chamber softly lit

 



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