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lost love poem

the smell of the rose so false, the thorns so true
who loves the rain
among the mountains i wandered
which i wish to remark
i have come into the desert because my soul is athirst
star-dust and vaporous light
let a joy keep you
love has been sung a thousand ways
though i am little as all little things
it was a tall young oysterman
the endless, foolish merriment of stars
at midnight
had he and i but met
for i was a gaunt, grave councillor

 



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