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love poem

sleep, gray brother of death
though i am little as all little things
pharaoh, king of egypt's land
all quiet along the potomac
i saw the archangels in my apple-tree last night
and with the humming bird
up from the meadows rich with corn
the sun is up
a bird sang
she has a clear, wind-sheltered loveliness
pushing out, struggling vainly

 



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