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free love poetry

tell me less or tell me more
against the green flame of the hawthorn-tree
some one complained to the master
out of the deep and the dark
a mist was driving down
do you hear the rain?
a thousand silent years ago
when freedom from her mountain height
for i was a gaunt, grave councillor
all down the years
some of the hurts you have cured
a little peach in the orchard grew
i have seen the proudest stars

 



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