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gone before us
to what shall a woman liken her beloved
splendid and terrible your love
in the cloud-gray mornings
though i am little as all little things
there was never a sound beside the wood but one
see the tentative
i have seen the proudest stars
i do not pray for peace
often i think of the beautiful town
listen to the sounding sea
did you ever hear of
when you come tonight

 



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