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fall poem

pushing out, struggling vainly
how like the stars are these white, nameless faces
in his guarded tent
why so sad my lovely one?
with joy and wonder
glooms of the live-oaks
i was a goddess ere the marble found me
were it not for that singular smell
i saw god. do you doubt it?
when the veil from the eyes is lifted
with lips blood red and heart of stone
to some the fat gods
there are three ways in which men take

 



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