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famous poem

i see all human wits
do you think, my boy, when i put my arms around you
all those treasures that lie
a pen of steel
within my hand i hold
in mournful numbers
in the sphere
with her hair flaying wildly
never in all my life
in the dark and peace of my final bed
the pale day drowses on the western steep
burly, dozing humble-bee
city that is not a city
why so sad my lovely one?

 



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