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a blue-black nubian plucking oranges
there is no escape by the river
when sea-winds pierced our solitudes
my soul goes clad in gorgeous things
the sky
do you hear the rain?
a poet, having taken the bridle off his tongue
i walk down the garden paths
green afternoon serene and bright
these be
i have come into the desert because my soul is athirst
i love to steal awhile away
night was black and drear
under the harvest moon

 



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