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fall poem

days endeared to every muse
perhaps it is no matter that you died
under dusky laurel leaf
when a deed is done for freedom
what spiteful chance steals unawares
i burn no incense
some one complained to the master
you are my companion
we who stood
i shall see a star tonight
muffled drum's sad roll has beat
we break the glass whose sacred wine
i saw the first pear
still thirteen years

 



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