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kid poem

in september
babylon-where i go dreaming
with joy and wonder
splendid and terrible your love
this ancient silver bowl of mine
never in all my life
a gleam of gold in gloom and gray
tell me less or tell me more
it is true that you say the gods are more use to you than fairies
sweet and strong
three days i heard them grieve when i lay dead
there are gains for all our losses
had he and i but met
in may

 



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