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daughter poem

give me hunger
when night drifts along the streets of the city
good woman
beneath my window in a city street
there are gains for all our losses
my sorrow, when she's here with me
thou unrelenting past
muffled drum's sad roll has beat
there by the window in the old house
it is true that you say the gods are more use to you than fairies
never in all my life

 



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