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friend poetry

there is an hour of peaceful rest
bring me soft song
i shake my hair in the wind of morning
musing, between the sunset and the dark
i burn no incense
o fair and stately maid, whose eyes
with the meek, brown eyes
babylon-where i go dreaming
if the red slayer think he slays
a blue-black nubian plucking oranges
the pale day drowses on the western steep

 



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