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lost love poem

this ancient silver bowl of mine
as a white candle
passing through huddled and ugly walls
i saw the archangels in my apple-tree last night
gloom
i bid them all farewell
afraid no more, i say
long has the summer sunlight shone
some one complained to the master
thoughts through my head
in your arms was still delight
here falls no light
do you hear the rain?

 



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