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type of poem

if the red slayer think he slays
she was a beauty in the days
up to her chamber window
come down at dawn from windless hills
good woman
for i was a gaunt, grave councillor
the poets tell
i saw god. do you doubt it?
be patient, life, when love is at the gate
to some the fat gods
see i give myself to you
i saw the first pear
little gate was reached at last

 



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