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type of poetry

i saw the archangels in my apple-tree last night
i can not tell you now
there by the window in the old house
pushing out, struggling vainly
for i was a gaunt, grave councillor
a thousand silent years ago
when freedom from her mountain height
the ancient songs
i saw god. do you doubt it?
and breaketh bread no more
a life on the ocean wave
all day to watch the blue wave curl and break
all those treasures that lie
this ancient silver bowl of mine

 



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