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type of poetry

master of human destinies am i
when i looked into your eyes
night was black and drear
and my name is truthful
hang no wreath
gloom
a poet, having taken the bridle off his tongue
shadows lay along broadway
backward, turn backward
when freedom from her mountain height
i stand in the cold gray weather
for truth, for love
i cannot always feel his greatness
he speaks not well

 



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