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christmas poetry

as evening falls
sweet splendor
up from the meadows rich with corn
i can not tell you now
in mournful numbers
as i lie roofed in, screened in
thou unrelenting past
in the cloud-gray mornings
not from the whole wide world
i was a goddess ere the marble found me
the darkness steals the forms of all the queens
i said, i have shut my heart

 



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