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type of poem

brief on a flying night
there are three ways in which men take
my soul goes clad in gorgeous things
a storm is riding on the tide
the hypocritic days
gaily through the fields we danced
a few more windy days
i go my way complacently
with the meek, brown eyes
old wine to drink
when you come tonight
how shall i help to right the world that is going wrong

 



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