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epic poetry

darkest, strangest mystery
see, from this counterfeit of him
for these white arms about my neck
pushing out, struggling vainly
the child who threw away leaf after leaf
among the smoke and fog of a december afternoon
she might have known it in the earlier spring
there is a city, builded by no hand
i am singing to you
when i was a boy at college
i do not pray for peace
looking beyond

 



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