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sad love poem

some of the hurts you have cured
i loathed you
in new york harbor
in september
renew the vision of delight
days endeared to every muse
musing, between the sunset and the dark
the fragrance came
city that is not a city
he'd even have his joke
it is true that you say the gods are more use to you than fairies
against the green flame of the hawthorn-tree

 



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