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anniversary poetry

weak-winged is song
when i returned at sunset
and how could you dream of meeting
through the broad earth's aching breast
tell me
darkest, strangest mystery
do not turn your head
if i had known how narrow a prison is love
all quiet along the potomac
when the veil from the eyes is lifted
be in me as the eternal moods
we break the glass whose sacred wine
though i am little as all little things

 



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