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type of poem

sun stepped down from his golden throne
all day to watch the blue wave curl and break
rocked in the cradle of the deep
risen from the dead
lived by the river-side
there are three ways in which men take
give me hunger
i have heard that a certain princess
i make my shroud, but no one knows
storm
eighty years have passed, and more
gingham dog and the calico cat
i cannot always feel his greatness

 



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