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kid poem

with joy and wonder
for these white arms about my neck
by the shore, by the sea
it is true that you say the gods are more use to you than fairies
you are clear
why are the things that have no death
in may
mysterious night
a poet, having taken the bridle off his tongue
if the red slayer think he slays
roses and gold
i cannot always feel his greatness
very well, you liberals

 



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