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poems

beautiful, tragical faces
they ask me where i've been
i have come into the desert because my soul is athirst
gone are the three, those sisters rare
she knows a cheap release
with lips blood red and heart of stone
could we but know
grieve not for the invisible
the swan existing
world that changes under my hand
babylon-where i go dreaming
gaily through the fields we danced
a poet, having taken the bridle off his tongue
i have seen the proudest stars

 



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