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thanksgiving poem

lo! 'tis a gala night
the old songs
night is dark, and the winter winds
the body may confine
as it
the little pitiful, worn, laughing faces
from song and dream for ever gone
have we no shame?
there is an hour of peaceful rest
sweet with fern and rose
see, they return
glass-blower of time
a blue-black nubian plucking oranges
a flying word from here and there

 



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