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sad death poem

a pen of steel
look out upon the stars, my love
and still they walked on
under the harvest moon
i saw you hunched and shivering on the stones
it is true that you say the gods are more use to you than fairies
i saw the archangels in my apple-tree last night
so fallen
o fair and stately maid, whose eyes
i am dying
green afternoon serene and bright
weak-winged is song
under a spreading chestnut tree

 



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