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poetry poem

those on the top say they know you, earth-they are liars
i burn no incense
you are clear
splendid and terrible your love
be in me as the eternal moods
stern cold man
your body's motion is like music
a storm is riding on the tide
friend, whose smile has come to be
lo! 'tis a gala night
above them all, looking down
all down the years

 



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