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graduation poem

long has the summer sunlight shone
see, from this counterfeit of him
against the green flame of the hawthorn-tree
there were three in the meadow by the brook
now while my lips are living
beneath the warrior's helm
dark-eyed
thoughts through my head
i am singing to you
when the veil from the eyes is lifted
daughter, thou art come to die
there are three ways in which men take
all those treasures that lie

 



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