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sorry poem

the dawn was apple-green
under the harvest moon
days endeared to every muse
to be able to see every side of every question
i am in love with high far-seeing places
hang no wreath
for i was a gaunt, grave councillor
do you think, my boy, when i put my arms around you
stern cold man
do you hear the rain?
love has been sung a thousand ways
long ago, in the young moonlight
renew the vision of delight

 



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