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type of poetry

old wine to drink
a storm is riding on the tide
let us plant
suddenly, out of dark and leafy ways
within this lowly grave a conqueror lies
lo! 'tis a gala night
i saw the clouds among the hills
in may
i said, i have shut my heart
at midnight
as evening falls
why do you always stand there shivering
be not angry with me
though love repine, and reason chafe

 



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