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poetry poem

i can not tell you now
i saw with open eyes
there is a city, builded by no hand
days endeared to every muse
along the banks
hang no wreath
when the wind works against us in the dark
these hearts were woven of human joys and cares
beautiful, tragical faces
and with the humming bird
earth travails
to come so soon to this imagined dark
it is true that you say the gods are more use to you than fairies

 



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