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romantic poem

he'd even have his joke
i make my shroud, but no one knows
pushing out, struggling vainly
through the broad earth's aching breast
glooms of the live-oaks
be not angry with me
a pen of steel
i am dying
i love the old melodious lays
as a white candle
passing through huddled and ugly walls
when freedom from her mountain height
when a deed is done for freedom
the hypocritic days

 



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