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suicide poem

as i lie roofed in, screened in
i loved a woman
last midnight
a poet, having taken the bridle off his tongue
how wild, how witch-like weird that life should be
within this lowly grave a conqueror lies
it is true that you say the gods are more use to you than fairies
i expect you
they in the darkness gather and ask
a mist was driving down

 



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