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short funny poem

she has a clear, wind-sheltered loveliness
just now
truely
glooms of the live-oaks
death's nobility again
the pale day drowses on the western steep
perhaps
little park that i pass through
why so sad my lovely one?
up and down he goes
how like the stars are these white, nameless faces
she limps with halting painful pace
splendid and terrible your love

 



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