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mother poem

how wild, how witch-like weird that life should be
muffled drum's sad roll has beat
take my bracelets
stern cold man
she might have known it in the earlier spring
lived by the river-side
there were three in the meadow by the brook
royal feast was done
in may
i walk down the garden paths
the pale day drowses on the western steep
i have cast the world

 



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