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love poetry chat

with the meek, brown eyes
if it
she limps with halting painful pace
in his guarded tent
i see all human wits
what spiteful chance steals unawares
the ships are lying in the bay
now while my lips are living
in september
pushing out, struggling vainly
one sweetly solemn thought
when i go back to earth
sweet splendor
i made a vow once, one only

 



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