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autumn poetry

when i was broke in london
she must go back, she said
daughter, thou art come to die
when a deed is done for freedom
in may
it is true that you say the gods are more use to you than fairies
burly, dozing humble-bee
in mournful numbers
you say you love me
when i looked into your eyes
earth travails
long has the summer sunlight shone

 



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