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marriage poem

glooms of the live-oaks
see i give myself to you
i cannot always feel his greatness
could we but know
the snow whispers about me
what spiteful chance steals unawares
in mournful numbers
skies they were ashen and sober
our pleasant moments fly
as it
my son is dead and i am going blind
last midnight
sun stepped down from his golden throne

 



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