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math poem

one sweetly solemn thought
in new york harbor
be not angry with me
when night drifts along the streets of the city
perhaps
still her gray rocks tower above the sea
softly now the light of day
now for a brisk and cheerful fight
a poet, having taken the bridle off his tongue
what was it the engines said
days endeared to every muse
often i think of the beautiful town
when the hours of day are numbered
my true love from her pillow rose

 



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