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romantic poem

the swan existing
days endeared to every muse
with lips blood red and heart of stone
for these white arms about my neck
could we but know
somewhere i read a strange, old, rusty tale
thou unrelenting past
if i should die, think only this of me
glass-blower of time
since, if you stood by my side today
they threw a stone, you threw a stone
there was a strangeness on your lips

 



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