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sad poem

now while my lips are living
be not angry with me
my son is dead and i am going blind
the body may confine
sweet with fern and rose
for these white arms about my neck
and my name is truthful
sleep sweetly in your humble graves
i am a woman
beautiful, tragical faces
sweet splendor
for i was a gaunt, grave councillor
a look is but a ray

 



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