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type of poem

under dusky laurel leaf
for these white arms about my neck
she might have known it in the earlier spring
he's gone
beautiful
the mountains they are silent folk
the long resounding marble corridors
love me at last, or if you will not
in the cloud-gray mornings
the rain was over, and the brilliant air
be not angry with me
i had a dream and i awoke with it
now for a brisk and cheerful fight

 



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