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acrostic poem

splendid and terrible your love
i am dying
how like the stars are these white, nameless faces
she has a clear, wind-sheltered loveliness
to clothe the fiery thought
sadly speaking
who will be naming the wind
those on the top say they know you, earth-they are liars
burly, dozing humble-bee
now that i have cooled to you
when i was broke in london
i saw with open eyes
we who stood

 



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