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love poem

looking beyond
the endless, foolish merriment of stars
we break the glass whose sacred wine
last midnight
i fill this cup
in your arms was still delight
the body may confine
when, full of warm and eager love
all those treasures that lie
made up of loveliness alone
for these white arms about my neck
the poets tell
the meadow was creeping
into the silent land

 



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