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autumn poetry

tell me less or tell me more
there are gains for all our losses
how shall i help to right the world that is going wrong
the stars fell from heaven
i loathed you
as it
if i were very sure
when you come tonight
this is the song of youth
sun stepped down from his golden throne
the swan existing
fat black bucks in a wine-barrel room
love me at last, or if you will not
take my bracelets

 



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