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type of poem

long has the summer sunlight shone
before the solemn bronze saint
behold me, in my chiffon, gauze and tinsel
and breaketh bread no more
two rows of cabbages
lady, your heart has turned to dust
often i think of the beautiful town
they threw a stone, you threw a stone
a blue-black nubian plucking oranges
she burst fierce wine
we were not many
i burn no incense
dear wife
as it

 



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