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marriage poem

risen from the dead
stern cold man
there was never a sound beside the wood but one
they may talk of love in a cottage
beautiful, tragical faces
is there anybody there
it was the autumn of the year
some of the hurts you have cured
roses and gold
i stood
i shake my hair in the wind of morning
babylon-where i go dreaming
i had a dream and i awoke with it
against the green flame of the hawthorn-tree

 



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