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sympathy poem

my soul goes clad in gorgeous things
now while my lips are living
the swan existing
there was never a sound beside the wood but one
brief on a flying night
no prey am i of poor thoughts
a gleam of gold in gloom and gray
when freedom from her mountain height
stay no more
how shall i help to right the world that is going wrong
still her gray rocks tower above the sea
the stars fell from heaven

 



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