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type of poetry

i fill this cup
before the solemn bronze saint
there are three ways in which men take
let us pity those who are better off than we are
what shall we do now
i have cast the world
sun stepped down from his golden throne
is there anybody there
i had a dream and i awoke with it
long ago, in the young moonlight
i am a woman
i was a goddess ere the marble found me
my true love from her pillow rose

 



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