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love poetry chat

to what shall a woman liken her beloved
those black eyes i once so praised
thou unrelenting past
beneath my window in a city street
there were three in the meadow by the brook
lo! 'tis a gala night
o fair and stately maid, whose eyes
candles toppling sideways in tomato cans
sleep, gray brother of death
love me at last, or if you will not
she was a beauty in the days

 



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