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religious poem

rocked in the cradle of the deep
where shall i find you
world that changes under my hand
by the rude bridge
if i had known how narrow a prison is love
your body's motion is like music
glooms of the live-oaks
the poets tell
above them all, looking down
and how could you dream of meeting
beneath the warrior's helm
hang no wreath
come down at dawn from windless hills

 



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