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contemporary poetry

beautiful, tragical faces
the smell of the rose so false, the thorns so true
night is dark, and the winter winds
sing again the song you sung
i am weary of being bitter and weary of being wise
i bid them all farewell
from floor to ceiling
somewhere i read a strange, old, rusty tale
do you hear the rain?
the saddest of the year
sad are they who know not love
friend, whose smile has come to be
high-born race
a life on the ocean wave

 



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