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i miss you poem

how like the stars are these white, nameless faces
before the solemn bronze saint
which keeps
i said
by the rude bridge
bring me soft song
let us plant
she was a beauty in the days
splendid and terrible your love
those on the top say they know you, earth-they are liars
i make my shroud, but no one knows
i think it just splendid
sad are they who know not love
i am weary of being bitter and weary of being wise

 



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