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sad love poem

never in all my life
in and of itself
green afternoon serene and bright
it is true that you say the gods are more use to you than fairies
of sun nor stars
among the smoke and fog of a december afternoon
world that changes under my hand
there is a city, builded by no hand
my soul goes clad in gorgeous things
the endless, foolish merriment of stars
in your flight
i saw god. do you doubt it?

 



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