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love poem

old wine to drink
the hypocritic days
lady, your heart has turned to dust
there are three ways in which men take
along the banks
when you come tonight
i heard the wind all day
i bid them all farewell
quietly, with reverance, in awe
as a white candle
they may talk of love in a cottage
as i lie roofed in, screened in
have you seen walking through the village
the darkness rolls upward

 



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