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love poem

i am dying
through the broad earth's aching breast
sad are they who know not love
a gleam of gold in gloom and gray
better than granite
royal feast was done
on and on
she was a beauty in the days
a poet, having taken the bridle off his tongue
the hypocritic days
i was a goddess ere the marble found me
i saw the first pear
lived by the river-side

 



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