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love poem

she has a clear, wind-sheltered loveliness
gone are the three, those sisters rare
splendid and terrible your love
three days i heard them grieve when i lay dead
when the hours of day are numbered
as evening falls
a flying word from here and there
last night the full moon laid a cloth of white
up and down he goes
sleep sweetly in your humble graves
a blue-black nubian plucking oranges
from song and dream for ever gone

 



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