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poetry poem

of sun nor stars
in all things not spoken of
with joy and wonder
i fill this cup
she has a clear, wind-sheltered loveliness
i shall see a star tonight
all those treasures that lie
gloom
it is true that you say the gods are more use to you than fairies
stir
glooms of the live-oaks
softly weeping
if the red slayer think he slays
melancholy, blue it was

 



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