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sad love poem

this is the ship of pearl
gaily through the fields we danced
i am in love with high far-seeing places
i walk down the garden paths
days endeared to every muse
pushing out, struggling vainly
grieve not for the invisible
my son is dead and i am going blind
before the solemn bronze saint
daughter, thou art come to die
darkest, strangest mystery
i think it just splendid
who is the runner in the skies

 



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