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modern poetry

while i stood listening, discreetly dumb
a very remarkable history this is
the little pitiful, worn, laughing faces
roses and gold
in the dark and peace of my final bed
just now
a bird sang
a few more windy days
under the harvest moon
two rows of cabbages
when i returned at sunset
though i am little as all little things
mid pleasures and palaces though we may roam
as a white candle

 



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