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modern poetry

with her hair flaying wildly
the light withdrawn
you are beautiful and faded
stern cold man
days endeared to every muse
i saw the archangels in my apple-tree last night
my sorrow, when she's here with me
in mournful numbers
with the sunset
if i had known how narrow a prison is love
there is no flock, however watched and tended
but alas, just dreams
it was many and many a year ago
i saw the first pear

 



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