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a blue-black nubian plucking oranges
above them all, looking down
since, if you stood by my side today
there by the window in the old house
suddenly, out of dark and leafy ways
have you seen walking through the village
sweet with fern and rose
once this soft turf
as a white candle
never in all my life
shines the last age, the next with hope is seen
the shadows of the ships
i sometimes wonder if it's really true
gone are the three, those sisters rare

 



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