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type of poetry

death's nobility again
give me
a storm is riding on the tide
look out upon the stars, my love
these be
he speaks not well
i heard the wind all day
i am weary of being bitter and weary of being wise
if i had known how narrow a prison is love
the shadows of the ships
quietly, with reverance, in awe
wheel me down by the meadow
i gazed upon the glorious sky

 



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