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lyric poem

why do
beneath the warrior's helm
now for a brisk and cheerful fight
my mother twines me roses wet with dew
when i looked into your eyes
the shadows of the ships
i saw the clouds among the hills
i fill this cup
eighty years have passed, and more
to some the fat gods
o fair and stately maid, whose eyes
with joy and wonder
which keeps
the darkness rolls upward

 



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