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all quiet along the potomac
among the smoke and fog of a december afternoon
skies they were ashen and sober
which keeps
but i cannot read you now
there is no flock, however watched and tended
high-born race
i am in love with high far-seeing places
tell me
high walls and huge
you are beautiful and faded
i love my hour of wind and light
this is the song of youth
they may talk of love in a cottage

 



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