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thank you poem

desolate and lone
weak-winged is song
i love my life, but not too well
up to her chamber window
it is true that you say the gods are more use to you than fairies
up from the south at break of day
all my love for my sweet
the arches of the red bridge
in their ragged regimentals
with lips blood red and heart of stone
renew the vision of delight

 



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