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broken heart poem

splendid and terrible your love
daughter, thou art come to die
my mother twines me roses wet with dew
to come so soon to this imagined dark
made up of loveliness alone
if the red slayer think he slays
this is the song of youth
in all things not spoken of
world that changes under my hand
among the mountains i wandered
calm as that second summer
full of tears
you say you love me

 



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