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math poem

the shadows of the ships
eighty years have passed, and more
as i lie roofed in, screened in
against the green flame of the hawthorn-tree
shines the last age, the next with hope is seen
out of the sparkling sea
to come so soon to this imagined dark
in the cloud-gray mornings
let a joy keep you
calm as that second summer
i burn no incense
with the sunset
moonlight deep and tender

 



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