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modern poetry

rose and amber was the sunset on the river
mysterious night
with lips blood red and heart of stone
made up of loveliness alone
like eagles on up high
daughter, thou art come to die
though love repine, and reason chafe
my soul is a dark ploughed field
suddenly, out of dark and leafy ways
soft as the bed in the earth
up and down he goes
often is it not so?

 



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