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sorry poem

woman much missed, how you call to me, call to me
if i had known how narrow a prison is love
love me at last, or if you will not
tell me
the meadow was creeping
all quiet along the potomac
now for a brisk and cheerful fight
backward, turn backward
there was a strangeness on your lips
my soul is a dark ploughed field
a thin gray shadow on the edge of thought
these be

 



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