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love poem

o fair and stately maid, whose eyes
why are the things that have no death
two rows of cabbages
it was many and many a year ago
when the veil from the eyes is lifted
brief on a flying night
when i was broke in london
sweet and strong
a gleam of gold in gloom and gray
in september
now for a brisk and cheerful fight
in and of itself
renew the vision of delight
death's nobility again

 



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