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autumn poetry

i expect you
i love to steal awhile away
by the rude bridge
shades of night were falling fast
i see all human wits
she said
a gleam of gold in gloom and gray
in the dark and peace of my final bed
if the red slayer think he slays
once this soft turf
glooms of the live-oaks
he speaks not well
why then, must we see?
the old west, the old time

 



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