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christmas poems

the air is full of dawn and spring
he speaks not well
like him whose spirit in the blaze of noon
their beautiful hair
this ancient silver bowl of mine
i have come into the desert because my soul is athirst
love me at last, or if you will not
the shadows of the ships
up from the meadows rich with corn
there was a strangeness on your lips
the long resounding marble corridors
from our hidden places

 



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