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son poem

when, full of warm and eager love
to clothe the fiery thought
with lips blood red and heart of stone
i saw the archangels in my apple-tree last night
i am fevered
beside a stricken field
you are my companion
tell me less or tell me more
the saddest of the year
the lightning flashed, and lifted
from song and dream for ever gone
still thirteen years
love me at last, or if you will not

 



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