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autumn poetry

lo! 'tis a gala night
there was never a sound beside the wood but one
do you think, my boy, when i put my arms around you
the ships are lying in the bay
i flung my soul to the air like a falcon flying
our pleasant moments fly
listen
out of me unworthy and unknown
i am dying
there is no flock, however watched and tended
awful truths these be
suddenly, out of dark and leafy ways
all quiet along the potomac

 



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