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autumn poetry

their beautiful hair
he speaks not well
in the cloud-gray mornings
i go my way complacently
i make my shroud, but no one knows
the endless, foolish merriment of stars
suddenly, out of dark and leafy ways
i think it just splendid
have we no shame?
the shadows of the ships
sweet with fern and rose
i had a dream and i awoke with it
from song and dream for ever gone

 



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