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darkest, strangest mystery
if the red slayer think he slays
renew the vision of delight
city that is not a city
from our hidden places
like him whose spirit in the blaze of noon
a blue-black nubian plucking oranges
glooms of the live-oaks
i love my hour of wind and light
beside a stricken field
there is no flock, however watched and tended
a sky that has never known sun, moon or stars

 



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