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friend poem

in the dark and peace of my final bed
against the green flame of the hawthorn-tree
the darkness rolls upward
gaily through the fields we danced
but i cannot read you now
a look is but a ray
there is a country full of wine
lived by the river-side
the hypocritic days
green afternoon serene and bright
in september
will you glimmer on the sea?
though love repine, and reason chafe

 



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