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poem for pastors

though i am little as all little things
glass-blower of time
why so sad my lovely one?
up to her chamber window
i saw the clouds among the hills
when the veil from the eyes is lifted
take my bracelets
against the green flame of the hawthorn-tree
and how could you dream of meeting
the rain was over, and the brilliant air
have you heard
doubtless i remember still
they threw a stone, you threw a stone

 



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